


The Tower

by Kitcat300



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family Secrets, Ghost Stories, Happy Ending, Haunted Houses, Murder, Mystery, Occasional grossness (not sure how else to describe that), References to blood and torture, Weekend party, new relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 56,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25709755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitcat300/pseuds/Kitcat300
Summary: AU.  When a group of authors meet at a weekend get away all is not as it seems.  They all have different agendas but something bigger is happening that none of them are prepared for.  With precious little time left will history repeat itself?
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Rufus Carlin/Jiya
Comments: 32
Kudos: 29





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

> This has been playing around in my head for a while so I thought I'd give it a shot and get it down on paper/screen/whatever. Please ignore typos. Thanks in advance.

In the cold and the dark and the damp. Beneath the chalky slabs where the smell of must was strong. Down dirt hewn steps that no feet had trodden for longer than living memory. The voice sounded.

“Everything is ready?”

The iron tang of blood and the bitter smell of sweat coated the only tongue capable of movement, the word dragged from an uncooperative host. A whisper. “Yes.”

A slither. A sickly glide of sensation to envelope the last drips of heat, of life, as the heart of the beast slowed to nothing.

“Finally.”

***

Not for the first time that afternoon Lucy pulled her blazer more securely about herself. Apparently she was the only one who could feel the draft - something to do with her approaching senility her younger sister maintained - but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” 

In response Amy cranked the stereo and sang at the top of her lungs, “ _This is Halloween, Halloween, Halloween!_ ”

“I think we should turn around.”

“Aww come on!” Amy threw her hands up in outrage, releasing the wheel for one terrifying second before remembering she was supposed to be driving. “We’ll be there in ten.” She had the audacity to wink. “What harm could it do?”

Brown eyes flashing, Lucy gave her best disappointed big sister glare. “And here I thought you were a child of the teen horror generation.”

Shrugging, the younger woman flashed an artless smile. “Point taken. Pinky promise, some psycho killer comes in the front door I am not running up the stairs.” Then she looked in the side mirrors to check out the completely deserted road, carefully choosing not to comment on the lack of traffic. “All I’m saying is you’ve been nothing but doom and gloom about this. It’s a party for heaven’s sake. I mean, sort of, in an old person dull kind of way but you know. Lighten up some.”

“And you think the best way to do that is singing Tim Burton songs?”

“What? You’d rather it was Bieber?”

To annoy her sibling Lucy asked, “Do I know them?”

Amy took the bait. As always. “Soon as we’re home we are going to have a long hard chat young lady. This work ethic thing you’ve got going on is seriously screwing up your priorities. I’m tainted by association and if word ever got out I’d lose all the pop culture credit I have.”

“Podcasting doesn’t give you credit be default?”

“A serious talk!”

Insincere sibling bickering. The backbone of family life. Lucy bit back a smile, turning her eyes to the land they were moving through. The last town they’d passed must have been a half hour earlier, the last farm house a good fifteen minutes ago. From her research she knew Manor Grange was remote but knowing something and understanding something were two different things it turned out. 

Tree. Another tree. Field with tree. Tree. Much more of this and she’s be asleep. Which meant dreaming. No. “Remind me again why you thought we should accept this invitation?”

“You love old buildings?”

“I said no, remember?”

Amy’s mouth set mutinously.

Lucy went back to looking out of the window, trying to coral her thoughts. “Logically I know I should be excited b-”

“Duh.”

Sticking out her tongue might be immature but it conveyed the perfect sentiment. “ _But_. Since the moment you put that invitation on the table I’ve had the heebeegeebeez about the whole thing.”

Approaching an old, mostly worn sign Amy set her indicator, tutting in time to the clicking. “Says the girl who went into raptures about the watermarked something or other envelope with the tissue lined blah blah.”

It had been amazing stationary, an English import from Smythson. To hold it was to hold a small fortune not to mention a stalwart of British aristocratic history, but still, every instinct she had screamed ‘no’ when she read the contents. “The quality of the paper is not in question.”

“Your sanity might be.” Came a muttered undertone.

“I heard that, brat!”

Amy threw out her signature ‘couldn’t care less you can’t touch me’ smile. “Look. I’m just saying. It is a Part- _ay!_ Something that has been sadly lacking from the Preston sisters social calendar for some time. So what if it’s a lame literary convention? They’re serving cocktails.”

***

“After the formal meet and greet there’s a sit down meal at eight. Tomorrow there are guided tours of the house and grounds and an informal buffet lunch between one and three. You need to eat early as you have a meeting with the Cahill Foundation board at three thirty and then it’s a quiet afternoon before drinks at seven. Sunday morning has a writer’s masterclass scheduled with a free afternoon, however that is subject to change depending on the preferences of the groups and then Monday we are out of there.” Jessica looked up from her tablet, a slight frown accenting her brow. “Is there a reason you turned down the slot on _Good Morning America_ for this?”

Flynn’s lips thinned.

“I mean, as your PA I should no doubt be saying ‘hail Mary oh great one who always makes the right decisions’ but come on!” Her ability to state her mind without filters was usually a guaranteed way to lose a job but somehow it made her more secure in her position with Flynn. The simpering, sycophantic PA’s before her had an average job expectancy of three weeks. Go figure. “You’re top of the New York Times Best Sellers list. Surely you want to celebrate that?”

Again Flynn remained silent, ostensibly concentrating on the road but mostly just being ornery.

“God, you’re impossible!”

The silence held for another twenty miles before he spoke, his voice rusty through lack of use. “I don’t like breakfast television.”

Incredulous she stared, eyes the size of saucers. “That’s it?” She lowered her voice, turned down her lips and mock bobbed her head in imitation. “‘I don’t like breakfast television.’” Lesser people would have quailed at the look he shot her. “They offer you enough free PR to get your book sold twice over but no. You’d rather have a lie in???”

“And drinks at seven apparently.” He tried to hold a straight face but the edges of his lips betrayed him.

Jessica half-heartedly crossed her arms to sulk. “Fine. Keep your secrets. See if I care.”

This elicited a deep rumble of a laugh, cracking the stern outer image that Garcia Flynn preferred the world to see. His eyes crinkled at the corners taking years off his age. “You care.”

Raising her chin a couple of inches Jessica retorted, “You wish.”

“Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been teaching Iris this type of attitude.”

“All ten year old girls should know how to speak when a boy is being an idiot.”

Garcia’s face darkened. “A boy?”

“Forget I said anything.”

***

“Connor really didn’t tell you what this was all about?” Jiya, adjusted her sunglasses down her nose so she could get a better view of her boyfriend and business partners rising blush.

Not normally given to hiding things from his other half Rufus found the words easier to mumble.

“Didn’t catch all of that Doofus. Care to speak up for those at the back?” She knew him well enough to know he’d try to hold out so she let the silence stretch. One. Two. Three. Four.

“Okay. Okay. You win.”

“As if that was ever in doubt.”

Rufus swung his duffle bag over his shoulder, reaching out to take Jiya’s from her as they headed towards the ridiculously large doorway. You’d be able to fit a small giant through it with head room. Had people in the seventeenth century been ten foot tall on average?

“I said he wants to go out with a bang.”

“How unlike Connor.”

“My mom likes to say sarcasm is a lesser form of wit.” But his voice held affection.

Jiya laughed. “Continue.” Had she been sitting down she’d have been tempted to move her wrist through a royal wave.

“This is his last month here.” Rufus looked around for a bell but found none. He eyed the oversized knocker dubiously but hey, tapping politely on the door with his knuckles would no doubt leave the pair of them on the doorstep freezing to death all night. The reverberating boom of that much metal slamming into itself nearly killed his hearing. He had to shake his head to clear the ringing. “Anyway, he’s hosting the final party before the property transfer goes through and he wanted us on hand to officiate.”

That stooped the mirth. “Tell me he’s not planning-”

“He’s planning.”

“And you agreed?”

Clearing his throat Rufus clarified, “When the guy who paid your way through school asks you for a favour you just say yes.” Even if it meant coming to a cross between Downton Abbey and the Munsters house. There were definitely reasons he had never ventured out to Connor’s country home before. They had nothing to do with its creep factor. Obviously. Rufus was a man of science. Dark, shadowy old house filled with cobwebs and creaking floorboards absolutely _did not_ cause him to quake in his boots. 

“Rufus…”

He winced, knowing what she was about to say, almost grateful when the door swung open, seemingly of its own volition. 

***

Even the driveway was overcast by the time the pewter BMW pulled up. It was probably always overcast given the number of trees lining the route but Flynn noted with interest the wisps of fog that clung to their trunks. It would make one hell of a scene setting for the right story premise. Remote house, grounds filled with nooks and crannies that could hold who knew what, maybe a root to trip up the hero in a chase sequence. Best to let it percolate for a while. He should definitely pencil in a research trip to England when this was over. Iris would love to see the lights illuminating the quainter of the cities before they settled in for their long holiday hibernation and he could soak up some of the old English mood he needed as a launch point.

“Man, this place is ancient.” Jessica moaned as she opened her door and stretched her legs. “They’d better have electricity.”

“They’re expecting you to boil kettles over an open fireplace to fill a bath before you milk the cows and goats to provide sustenance for the serfs.” He winked. “At least that’s what the email said.”

“You won’t be laughing when you see there’s no mobile phone signal.” As if to emphasis her point Jessica started waving her handset up and down in the air. Those precious little bars refused to play ball, remaining defiantly in the no signal section.

So he’d have to call Iris on the land line. Maybe they’d have one of those upright rotary numbers with all the wood and brass? Perhaps with the driveway setting and a steampunk crossover his detective could… His thoughts stuttered to a halt as his eyes followed the lines of the house, through the almost gothic architecture and creamed oversized stones, past windows big enough to sleep in, up past battlements that seemed almost anachronistic in this day and age, to the tower. It dominated everything, overshadowing all that should be beautiful about the building and leaving his heart pounding in his chest.

Again Flynn felt the pull of the dream that had haunted him for weeks, the sense of urgency, the need to find something, someone before it was too late.

“Geez, chill, papa bear.” A sharp prod to his arm forced him back to the here and now. “They managed to get hold of all the guests. They’re sure to have way for you to get hold of the sproglet before bedtime.”

***

“Drinks will be served in the drawing room at seven. Sharp.”

The door clicked closed with a finality that felt more like a slap, the red-head’s derision lingering far longer than the woman herself. 

“Ain’t she a peach?” Amy dropped her bag at the foot of the four-poster that dominated the room and, after a backwards glare at the door, made her way over to the large, velvet draped windows.

Lucy followed her lead, speaking in much lower tones. “Play nice.” The room was incredible. The whole house was incredible, oozing with so much history that even Stanford’s department head would weep. So why couldn’t she shake the desire to keep checking over her shoulder?

“Oh, come on.” There had never really been a chance Amy would just let the attitude they’d been greeted with go. “That woman-”

“Ms Whitmore.”

“-Is the definition of supercilious battle-axe.”

“I’m sure she’s nice once you get to know her.” Maybe. Ok, probably not given the way she’d tried to give them frost bite for the full five minutes they’d been in her presence, but everyone deserved a second chance, right?

Amy just rolled her eyes.

After a pause that felt like an hour Lucy finally asked, “Is there a reason we’re stood looking out into the darkness?”

“I was hoping for a view?”

The near full moon did allow for a black and white inspection of the garden – at least she assumed it was a garden – but the clouds that rolled over it blocked out most of the light. What was no doubt a beautiful tree at the height of summer now resembled a twisted, gnarled witches hand reaching towards the bedrooms, and what the light would almost certainly show to be hedge boarders looked suspiciously like the coils of some ancient sea serpent undulating in the breeze. Overactive imagination, Lucy reminded herself. Not reality. If she was planning to sleep at all in the bedroom she should try to reign in the threatening fancies. “At six-thirty on a November evening?”

Amy looked up at the ceiling before quietly admitting, “Ok. So I didn’t know where to go with my huff.”

“No kidding.”

“ _Play nice_.”

Lucy had once read sisters outgrew a certain type of banter. The author of the article had obviously never had a sister, at least not one like Amy. Taking a deep breath Lucy searched around for a way to move forward. “We’re here now. Ms Whitmore can’t be representative of everyone else. Let’s just make the best of it and worst case scenario we can leave tomorrow.” That actually sounded like a great idea.

“Can’t do it.”

The beauty of it was they wouldn’t even need to unpack really and then… “What?”

Amy’s eyes remained resolutely on the windows that were acting more as a mirror. “We’ve gotta stay.”

Her sister was three inches taller than her and could easily meet Lucy’s eyes, but wasn’t. “Any reason?” She tried to keep the suspicion out of her tone.

Silence.

“Amy.”

Shoulders dropping Amy blew out a breath. Oh uh. Big trouble, incoming. “What’s going on?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

Lucy turned them from the reflective glass to stand face to face. “Has that ever stopped you?”

For a moment Amy looked like a child bullheadedly holding out against the impending onslaught of parental disapproval. She carefully wiped the look away, opting instead for wheedling little sister. “I got a job offer.”

Lucy waited for the other shoe to drop.

When the voice didn’t get the desired effect Amy toned it down a notch. “It’s nothing really.”

“Which is why you’re hiding it?” 

“It’s a sample piece.” She slipped out from under Lucy’s hand and moved to collect her bag, edging closer to the connecting door that led to her room.

Lucy side stepped to block the retreat. “And?”

For a moment it looked like she might not respond but then she blurted, “An interview with Benjamin Cahill in return for a position in podcast development for the San Francisco Tribune.” Before the echo of her words died away she hightailed it for the door, managing to get herself to the handle before Lucy managed to react.

“Are you kidding me?” Brown eyes blown wide Lucy couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.

A shake of honey brown hair, mostly Lucy thought, in the hope of the heavy weight hiding the chagrin on her face.

“For a month now you’ve been insisting I relax and go with the flow, even when I said I didn’t want to come, just so that you can wrangle yourself into a position to get an interview?”

“It’s not like that…”

“Yeah. Right. You knew I didn’t feel right about coming here under the circumstances-”

“It’s a great opportunity for me, Lucy.” The younger woman pleaded. “It could be a great opportunity for you too if you’d just let it be.”

Sinking onto the edge of bed Lucy rubbed at her forehead, trying to remove the dull ache that was building to a crescendo. “They invited me because they think I’m a Stanford Professor.”

“Lucy, it’s a weekend gathering of authors. You’re an author.”

“With an Ivy League credential behind my name! Did you see any authors from Delaware State on the guest list? No.”

“They don’t need to know-”

Exasperation was the dominant emotion. “Of course they do! I’m an imposter. If they call Stanford…”

“Why in the world would they do that?”

The two woman glared at each other before Amy relented, no match for her big sisters direct gaze. “I just thought,” she shook her head and tried again, “I saw the possibilities is all. And yes, getting my career off the ground was one of them but Cahill and his cronies have fingers in all kinds of pies. Why shouldn’t you get the chance to see if they might have a job opening for you too? I mean, anything’s got to be better than the path Mom has laid out for you. Right?”

Cold shivers raced along Lucy’s spine. “Tell me you didn’t say anything about this weekend to Mom.”

If anything Amy’s guilt grew.

“Amy!”

“I didn’t mean to.” The refrain from every childhood misdemeanour sounded hollowly.

On top of weeks of disturbed sleep, growing unease, impending unemployment and a painful encounter with their mother it was more than Lucy could handle right now. “Of all the dumb-“

“She was berating me about my life choices again and it just kind of came out.” Amy tried to switch the conversation. “I thought you already knew.”

“I’ve been ducking her calls since Wednesday.” Lucy reluctantly admitted. Her bi-weekly engagements with their mother were always contentious. 

“You told her you quit?” Amy was rapt.

It had been Lucy’s intention but, “No. I got, er, side tracked.”

Face as changeable as the weather, Amy spun through fascination to abject disappointment with a brief detour to sympathy. “As if that took much.”

“You are walking a very thin line.” Lucy enunciated each word with care, her beautiful face pinching with irritation.

“Noted.” Amy held back a grin. “So what did she hit you with?”

Not that their mother would ever lay a finger on either of them. She would deem that very much beneath her. No, Carol Preston was instead a master at torturing her daughters in other ways.

She’s sat in her mausoleum of a house with her perfect posture and brittle blonde hair styled to within an inch of its life. Her artic gaze had screamed disappointment in her eldest daughter’s sub-standard apparel (not everyone could afford the type of couture Carol favoured these days) but she had refrained from mentioning it outright. Instead she had attacked another of her child’s failings.

“Martha.”

The curve ball caught Amy just as it had Lucy. “Noah’s mom?” 

“Hmm.” She could still hear her mother’s saccrine sweet tone as she recounted the phone call they had shared.

“Why would she...” Understanding dawned. “No way. Surely they’re not-”

Several strands of hair freed themselves from the messy bun on top of Lucy’s head, creating a mahogany frame as she nodded. “They are.”

“But he’s gay!”

And happily so. 

“I know that.”

“They know that!” Amy had stood outside the room shamelessly listening in as Noah and Lucy confronted both mothers with the news that there would, in fact, be no wedding as Noah found himself far more interested in relationships with other men and Lucy would prefer to remain friends as that’s all the two actually shared.

“Apparently it’s a phase he’ll grow out of.” Lucy still couldn’t quite believe her mother had said it.

Slipping onto the bed beside her sister, Amy mirrored Lucy’s pose. “He’s been living with Brent for what, two years now?”

“Two and a half.” Lucy imagined her face must have held the same amount of disbelief not two days past. “They’re thinking about adopting.”

“So what, they think you can all just live together?”

“Apparently ‘allowances can be made’.” The determined look on Carol’s face as she’d said it had been terrifying.

“Give me a break.”

“That’s a polite way of phrasing what I said.”

***

Rufus ran a finger around the neckline of his V-necked pullover and grimaced. “I think I might have underestimated the dress code.”

Beside him Jiya was not amused. “I thought you said this was a smart casual thing?” She eyed their hostess-in-waiting’s slick teal cocktail dress. She’d happily bet a month’s rent it was designer. Suddenly her cute skinny jeans, knee high boots and slouch top combo didn’t seem all that great.

“Oops?”

“Rufus! Jiya! Over here!” The pristine English accent carried from the corner where Connor Mason rose from a wing-backed chair, resplendent in red silk.

As they approached Jiya eyed the suit and the rooms other occupants before asking, “Can I borrow your jacket?”

“You’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands darling.” Connor smiled benignly.

Rufus scanned the room again. “I thought you said there were only going to be couple of people?”

That received a friendly slap on the back. “Anything under twenty five is a couple.”

“And you said it was low key.” Rufus knew there was often times a gap between what Connor said and what Connor meant but the dress code was looking more like a gaping chasm that the most wonderful woman to ever walk the earth was going to push him into. He was so dead. If he was lucky she’d let him sleep in the bathtub tonight.

Slinging an arm around the pairs shoulders Connor ushered them forward. “My dear boy,” he flashed his teeth to include Jiya, “Rest assured, if this was anything other than low key there would be dancing elephants and a brass band. Now what can I get you to drink?”

Jiya discreetly kicked Rufus in the shin. He wasn’t sure if it was for screwing up the clothes and making her feel uncomfortable or to prompt him to speak. The pointed jerk of her head in Connor’s direction answered that question.

“So how’s it all going?” He started, wincing as Jiya kicked him harder in the same spot, her eyebrows raising. “I mean,” he squawked, rushing on before she beat him to the punch, “How are your plans going?” Her mouth opened so he quickly added, “Because Jiya and I have been talking and we were thinking-“

“How terribly bourgeois of you.”

Jiya wasn’t used to playing along with the crazy man. “This is a bad idea.” 

Connor smiled again, this time flashing teeth in an almost predatory gesture. “In my experience all good ideas start out that way.”

Having only ever seen the man as a father figure to her other half Jiya blithely pressed on, “We’re not talking mechanics here. You’re planning-“

Connor tugged them into the furthest most corner of the room, neatly cutting off Jiya’s words by forcing her to concentrate on maintaining her balance instead. A quick look around assured him they were far enough away that no one else would be able to hear. “I’d thank you to keep your voice down young lady.”

“And I’d thank you to remember this is the twenty-first century, not some latter day Victorian period piece.” She smoothed back her hair but kept a wary eye on their host.

The older man sniffed, his silken feathers rippling in sympathy. “I can assure you my plans are necessary.”

Cautiously Rufus asked, “For what?” He’d seen Connor’s version of necessary before.

Another covert look around. “This isn’t the time or the place, children. Surely you know the walls have ears?”

***

Across the room Garcia Flynn was trying hard to hold onto his temper. Usually his gruff manner and ability to have the last word ensured everyone avoided him. Unfortunately tonight was not meant to be that night. Not because he wasn’t being his usual sarcastic self, or because he was making an effort to be pleasant but rather because, in a turn of events of which no-one had seen fit to inform him, the popular military author who was supposed to be in attendance had dropped out at the last minute and been replaced. By none other than the man he’d had the distinct pleasure of punching in the jaw less than six months ago.

“People still buying that overrated history mystery nonsense you write?” Wyatt Logan said through his teeth, smiling for the rest of the room.

“According to the New York Times.”

“Numbers can be wrong.” The boyish features set mulishly.

“Something I’m sure you tell yourself every time your publisher calls.”

Logan’s ears reddened as his brow lowered. “Survivalist military recounts are a niche market.”

“Indeed. The fact that you survived the military at all is still a source of amazement to me. Let alone lived to write about your experiences.” Garcia took a sip of the dreadfully sweet, liqueur heavy concoction he’d been handed as he walked through the door, trying to repress a shudder. Since when did these occasions stop serving proper drinks, the type that burned as they made their way down your throat?

The red became more puce as the shorter man lost ground. “How many readers do you think would keep buying your books if they knew what type of man you really are?”

Interesting. “And what type of man am I exactly, former Master Sergeant?” Flynn’s eyes glittered, darkening to a fathomless brown.

“I’ve done some digging.”

“I’m sure Tonka toys appreciate your support.”

“A man has a right to know who his wife is fooling around with.” His hands balled at his sides, his knuckles white.

Flynn arched a dark brow. “Jessica is still your wife? I was under the impression her solicitor managed to finalise the details some time ago.”

The smug tilt of Wyatt’s lips implied he thought he’d hit a nerve. “Those housewives with too much time on their hands wouldn’t think so much of you if they knew you’d stolen another man’s wife now would they.”

“You do understand that Jessica is a woman able to make her own choices and quite incapable of being ‘stolen’ by anyone?”

The woman in question pushed between the two men, practically vibrating with anger. She discretely elbowed Wyatt in the stomach before turning her back on him. “I can’t believe you’re playing along with this gopher.” She tried to stare down her boss who stared straight back at her. As that stalemate was going nowhere she turned back to her ex-husband. “And just how many times do I have to tell you there is nothing going on between me and that tree of a man behind me? Soo not my type.”

“You left me for him!” His voice came out a little louder than he would have liked, turning several heads in their direction.

Jess pulled herself up to her full height, which in the peak toe laced stilettos she was wearing made her taller than Wyatt. “We split up because you,” she poked him in the chest, “have issues that I,” she gracefully indicated herself, “didn’t want to live with anymore. For the record your jealousy was one of them.”

“I saw you with him.” He was breathing heavily, no doubt defending his honour from imaginary slights.

“Doing what exactly? Typing? It’s my job Wyatt.”

There was blood in his eye. “In a bikini?”

Thinking back Jessica could recount three very specific occasions that he could be referring to, all completely innocent, but the only way he could have seen was if he was spying. The creep. “Gee, let me think, were we outside by a pool on some of the hottest days of the year? Was I also wearing hot pants and did we have a child as a chaperone? Get a grip soldier. Sex looks real different where I come from.”

“What type of lowlife uses his child as an alibi for adultery?”

Flynn growled, low and dangerous. 

***

“This is so not what I was thinking when they said drinks with authors.” As far as Amy could tell it was an old boys club with small clusters of people haw hawing while talking about themselves. Most seemed to be in couples with the man confiding to anyone who stood still long enough about his latest achievements and his somewhat silent other half nodding in all the right places.

“The man in the bow tie?” Lucy tilted her head to the side slightly, turning her silver bangle on her wrist so that the Celtic weave stood centrally, comforted by its familiar weight.

Amy sipped at a sunrise cocktail while not so discretely looking round. “Round belly covered by a puke green cummerbund?”

To stop from laughing aloud Lucy bit into her lip, tasting lipstick and hoping she hadn’t got it on her teeth. “He writes the most amazing children’s stories. Pumpkin Alley. Do you remember them?” A small shake of the head - Amy must have been too small when Lucy was at the height of her obsession with the series. “It also turns out he’s the most boring man alive, so avoid at all costs.”

Flashing teeth Amy scanned the room, determined to outdo her sister. She nodded towards a fireplace big enough to house a family of four. “Tall and lanky, slicked back grey hair?”

Checking out who her sister was on about Lucy nodded to say she’d seen him.

“Something Bruhl. Andy or Anthony. I don’t know. Anyway he writes science geek books.” She shuddered for effect. “He talked for five whole minutes and I maybe understood two sentences.”

“I thought you and Science Fiction had come to an understanding?”

“Nah. Rocco and I came to an understanding about my levels of acceptance for the Sci-Fi genre and what I was prepared to discuss but as he’s history…”

“You stayed over at his last night!”

“What’s a break up without sex?”

Lucy sometimes struggled to keep up with Amy’s love life. Mostly she felt like the spinster sister living out her life vicariously through Amy’s tales of romantic woe. Maybe now that she’d finally thrown off the shackles of a sheltered Stanford academic she could start to… Something knocked her elbow, tilting her drink precariously towards the front of her dress and the floor. A large – very large – hand clasped her wrist for a fraction of a second before it disappeared, crisis averted, at least on the outside.

“Steady there.” A deep, lightly accented voice said.

She looked up, then up some more until she met the face that belonged to the voice and just about had a heart attack. 

“Sorry.” It came out far more breathy than she would have liked, her pulse and not a few of her hormones racing towards out of control. She wasn’t even sure what she was apologising for. He’d knocked into her hadn’t he?

“My assistant was in a hurry.” He looked her over. “You’re not hurt?”

Hurt, no. Poleaxed, mostly definitely. “I, er, no?” 

Lucy could feel the blush working its way up from her chest, over her neck to stain her cheeks. She cringed inwardly, trying to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

“Everything ok Lucy?” Amy asked from somewhere beside her but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from his. Were they green like moss, or brown like bark, or both? 

“Mmm hmm.”

He blinked with exquisitely long lashes (it simply wasn’t fair for a man to have lashes like that!) and broke the spell.

“We haven’t been introduced.” His voice seemed to drop an octave, setting off tiny explosions inside her stomach. “Garcia Flynn.” He held out his hand and she took it automatically, a sudden rush of heat streaming from where their fingers touched. She wasn’t sure but she thought maybe the lights flicked too. There was certainly an odd kind of rushing noise, probably the blood screaming through her ear canals.

“Do I know you?” Amy’s voice acted like ice water. “You sure do seem familiar. Garcia Flynn. Garcia. Flynn.” She scratched at her chin for a moment before her lightbulb moment, mischief painted clear across her face.

“Amy.” Lucy warned, untangling their joined fingers while her companion looked on.

“Aren’t you the guy who writes-”

“Can I have a word please?” Lucy said a little more urgently. “In private.”

“Guilty as charged. And you are?” He asked, looking at first one woman and then the other, his mouth curving and positively biteable.

Amy jerked her thumb at Lucy. “She’s Lucy Preston. I’m her sister, Amy.” When she smiled like that she looked just like a Kewpie doll, all false innocence. “Do you know, I think my sister has-”

Before she could say anything incriminating Lucy grabbed Amy by the arm and pulled, hard, whispering “shut up” as discretely as she could while still maintaining a smile.

“Dr Lucy Preston?” 

Her name on his lips did funny things to her insides. 

“But he’s the guy-” Amy tried to wriggle free but there was no way Lucy was going to allow her to stay there and finish that sentence. It was mortifying enough that she had lost all control of her voice when he spoke let alone letting Amy say…

This time he asked, “Are you alright?” amusement lurking in the twinkle of his eyes.

“Er, yes.” She was making such an ass of herself. Lucy could have cried. “Would you excuse us please?” She pulled on Amy’s arm again, half hoping she was leaving bruises. “My sister has an extreme case of verbal diarrhoea. We never know what will pop out of her mouth next.” She retreated several steps. “We have to keep a gag in the car at all times.” 

Amy’s outrage was palpable.

“It was nice to meet you.” Then she turned and fled as fast as she could, dragging her protesting sibling behind her.

***

“It is thrilling to see so many of our more notable authors all in one place and for such a good cause.”

After Connor’s minor melodrama before it, dinner had been a dullish affair for Rufus. Jiya was down the table chatting to two women, sisters by the look of it, while he was flanked by two authors in the wrong jobs. On his left was a former soldier who was drinking more than he was eating, sending dark looks in the direction of a really tall man with a European accent across from them. The man in question was doing a stellar job at ignoring the looks and remained focused on his conversations with the red head to his left and the dark headed sister to his right. When the soldier wasn’t glaring he was sending hopeless puppy eyes at a cool blonde up towards the head of the table near the man now giving a speech. Connor had called him Cahill but apart from knowing that made him related to the Foundation taking over the house at months end the name meant little to Rufus.

On his other side a scientist who’d grown tired of fighting for grants and was now channeling his talents into writing science fiction was bemoaning his life choices. Apparently he could have been someone. He’d worked out the theoretical quantum physics that would allow him to develop a transportation model for moving through the fabric of time if only someone would have believed in him. The topic itself was interesting but the continuous melancholy was wearing. Rufus sorely hoped he wasn’t stuck in these seats for the rest of the weekend.

“The Cahill Foundation looks forward to talking with each and every one of you so that we can explore together how we might cooperate to increase the scope of our enterprises.” The speaker raised his glass in a toast that the rest of the table copied. “Now that our meal is drawing to a close might I suggest we all retire to the drawing room?” 

Cahill sounded like he’d got a broom stuck up somewhere it didn’t belong. Rufus made a mental note to avoid him where possible.

Connor led the retreat. He’d been strangely subdued throughout the meal, happy to watch the proceedings rather than run them. Rufus had half expected an exploding centrepiece or techno whale music to suddenly start up but everything had been almost eerily normal.

“Pompous prick don’t you think.” The man in question asked conversationally.

“Not a fan?”

“My dear boy, I’m not required to get on with Benjamin Cahill and his Doberman, simply to sign the house back over to them in six days time.” 

Rufus checked out the red-head who had her fingernails possessively bent in towards Cahill’s forearm. Her totally impassive face could be mistaken for that of the attack dog in the proper light.

“I thought you were selling up?”

Connor tutted then sighed. “Alas, no. Surely I’ve told you the history of the Grange and how I came to be its caretaker?”

Rufus thought back, filtering through the many tall tales Connor had spun, looking for the correct one. “Did it have something to do with your grandfather?”

“Ah, you do remember. Most excellent.” Connor settled down, ready to retell the story as though it were some sort of bedtime tale. He waved behind him as Jiya approached, bringing along the sisters from dinner.

“You are never going to believe this!” She squealed with excitement. “Lucy, Amy and I got talking over the fish course,” she indicated the women respectively then stopped to note to Connor, “That mackerel was amazing. Can I get the recipe?” At his nod she switched back to her original train of thought, “and it turns out Amy runs, wait for it, Lesser Gods.”

There was a beat where his brain caught up with his erstwhile musings that, really, Jiya was never more beautiful than when she was animated. “Wait. What?” He looked at the blonder of the sisters, trying to find some indication that she really was the silver tongued satirical podcaster he and Jiya so enjoyed. “No way.”

“It’s true.” Jiya was practically bouncing. Amy wasn’t far behind. Lucy remained to one side, indulgently amused. “And she knows who we are too!”

“How could I not?” The woman hugged Jiya, BFF forever style. “When Jiya said you loved all thing Jedi and she was all about the Trek I kind of hoped but then when she said you were both Firefly and Dollhouse aficionados I knew it. What are the odds?”

“Am I missing something?” The blonde from dinner asked over Lucy’s shoulder.

“I think you had to be there.” Lucy returned with a shrug as the three talked a mile a minute in, as far as she could tell, some sort of garbled English with TV references thrown in at random intervals.

“Sorry about earlier.” The woman lowered her voice. “My ex was being a dick and I let him get to me.” She determinedly looked away from the part of the room where one of the other guests was boring holes into her back. “I hope I didn’t ruin your dress?”

Ah. The elbow knock. Which led to Garcia Flynn, closely followed by Lucy being the least articulate she’d been since she was nine, which in fairness might have prompted the conversation at the dinner table wherein he’d mentioned her books were ‘quite good’ and that he was astounded someone like her (dear God what type of idiot had she made herself out to be???) could have written them. 

“No harm done.” Except to her pride.

“As I was saying…” Connor shifted, returning the focus to himself. “My grandfather was entailed this house and all of its contents for the total of one hundred years.”

Rufus stopped talking almost at once, with Amy and Jiya tapering off as Connor continued, “The story goes that after unfortunate death of the last daughter of the original owners of the house, Mildred Cahill, her husband couldn’t bear the idea of remaining within its walls. He was convinced the place was haunted and that said ghosts had indeed murdered his beloved. Of course he was later committed to a mental institution.”

“Murdered?”

Lucy leapt a clear foot off the floor as the baritone rumbled from behind her. Geez was the man a cat in a former life or something?

“Ah, Mr Flynn. You’re going to like this.” Conner waved him into the group, bringing him closer to Lucy and starting up the tattoo in her chest again. 

“Believing his dear friend to be of sound mind my grandfather, Joseph Mason, began the onerous task of tracing the history of the Grange to see if he could determine where the talk of ghosts came from. What he found was less than savoury.”

Lucy’s own research had indicated an unusual foundation for the building, in that it had been moved, brick by brick, from its original home in the shires of England to its current resting place but she hadn’t found anything else too untoward. Curiosity piqued she found herself leaning forward.

Obviously relishing the attention Connor lowered his voice so that everyone had to lean forward to hear. “There is a legend within the family that some three hundred years ago another young woman was murdered within these walls. She and her lover were set to elope but on the night of their flight they were discovered and her brother flew into a terrible rage. The accounts my grandfather was able to uncover were few but they all said there was a mighty battle that ended in the west tower where the brother pushed the woman over the battlements and her suitor, distraught at her loss, threw himself over to join her.” 

Lucy could almost feel the wind whipping through her hair, the slip of her feet as she got closer and closer to the edge. She could taste the tears that clogged her throat as vile words spewed from the mouth of the man she had called kin. The image was so real she physically stepped back, blinking as she realised there was something wrong with the lights, everything dim and flickery. She sucked in a sharp breath only to find her ribs restricted and uncomfortable. For just one moment she had the fanciful idea that maybe…

“The story goes that the brother was taken from the house by the local villagers and hung for his crimes, cursing his sister and her lover with his final breath.” Connor’s voice brought everything back into sharp focus and Lucy sighed, laughing silently at the way she’d allowed her mind to wander. Damn but she needed to sleep.


	2. Saturday - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams. Visions. Conversations. Plots and puzzle pieces.

_The bedroom looked better lit by candles, the low flames softening the cornicing and tempting her to stay hidden in the warmth of the sheets. Only the lure of her beloved books drew her out. Her books. Her library._

_One peak of her toes was enough to tell her the house was colder than she’d expected, the only warmth closer to the fire that was little more than glowing embers as the hour grew late. This was the only time of day she could move freely. It shouldn’t be like that. She wasn’t sure why but she knew it was._

_Her shawl was draped over the back of her chaise. Had she dropped it there? She couldn’t remember, knew only that she needed it before she sneaked from the room, moving cautiously so as not to extinguish the flame she carried with her._

_The corridor was quiet. The whole house was quiet, everyone retired to their rooms and settled in against the chill. Beneath her feet thin mules meant she needed to tiptoe or else the heels would clatter on the flag stone floors and alert anyone listening to her movements. Silence was essential but she felt the urge to hurry, not to get caught wandering. She didn’t want to be punished again._

_Moving was harder than normal, as though she was walking through something thick and resistant, and yet there was a pull almost as though her feet weren’t her own, not to mention a sense that this was not the first time she’d felt this way. Her body moved without conscious thought, following a route a part of her mind was sure she’d never followed but it all seemed so familiar. She wanted to turn her head to admire the paintings on the walls, the cluttered ornaments adorning the sideboards, but her gaze remained fixed, her head frozen in place. This was the path she was on. There would be no deviation._

_Down one side of the grand central staircase she went, tucking behind a pillar as the shadows cast by another candle appeared and then disappeared with the soft clicking of a door. Her breath came in frozen puffs, her heart fluttering fast in her ribcage. If he found her…_

_Indecision caught her but while her mind turned over possibilities her feet chose their own way, moving her not towards the library but towards the faintest of light that slipped beneath the doorway to the study. She had the impression the room shouldn’t be used, that something had happened and it’d been closed up, but the light was there and so were the voices, faint but audible. She needed to find out…_

_“It’s been four months.”_

_“It may yet be four more.”_

_The first voice was male. The second female. There was something about them that tickled at the back of her brain, something she couldn’t place._

_“You assured me you could get this done.”_

_“And I will.”_

_“His death was a mistake.” There was anger in the words._

_“He was growing suspicious.”_

_“He knew where-”_

_“She’ll be easier to handle.” The woman’s voice had an accent, a twang so familiar but wrong for this time, this place._

_“And if she doesn’t know where it is?”_

_Scuffles from inside the room. The creak of the writing desk chair. “It has to be in the house. He would have made sure she could find it.”_

_“Your New World confidence may be your downfall, dear lady.”_

_“You hired me to do a job. I never fail.”_

_“For your own sake I hope you are right.”_

_There was a murmur she couldn’t make out. More movement. Then a purr, “I’m sure she can be made to understand her tenuous position. After all, in an estate this large all manner of things could happen to a small boy while his governess isn’t looking.”_

Lucy sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat while her heart tried to claw its way out of her throat. The name Ethan bounced around in her head, attached to such a feeling of panic she clutched sickly at her stomach. She was half out of bed ready to rush from the room to check that … what? The dream was fading too fast to capture, only the emotion lingering, another nightmare to add to the collection. 

***

“Rough night?”

Rufus grunted, blowing and sipping at the coffee in his cup in an attempt to consume the scalding liquid as quickly as he could. “Guess that old ghost story got to me more than I thought.” That or trying to work out how to talk Connor down from his latest crazy idea.

Jessica, who’d introduced herself after the fact yesterday, shrugged. “It’s the house.”

“Huh?”

She helped herself to a croissant and a scoop of jam, thought about it for a beat then added another scoop for good measure. “Homicidal ghosts are never quite as scary when they haunt new build high-rises.”

“I wouldn’t like to be flung out of one of those either.” A quick calculation had Rufus sure that he wouldn’t achieve terminal velocity from even a penthouse apartment but what a way to go. He gave a mental shake of his head. Were there pills that could wipe images from the mind yet or was that just in the game he and Jiya had been beta testing?

“Nope, but at least you wouldn’t be watched by all the grotesque ancestors as it happened in a high-rise.”

Looking at the various sized portraits that hung along the walls of the room added to his shudder. Each one had a dower faced woman or some imperial looking man with a chest lined in medals. Their eyes followed every move he made. Judging him. Urgh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The old dude with a life-sized portrait at the far end was particularly mean looking. Definitely the kind of person who would have spluttered in outrage that Rufus was allowed in the ‘good rooms’. His long dead eyes shone with that overzealous righteous white – blink? What the..? Liquid dripped over his hand, burning a trail and stopping the nonsense. Blinking painting his hairy black behind. Haunted old houses. Why couldn’t Connor ever do anything _normal_?

Jessica added enough creamer to her drink to kill any flavour, happy as a clam. “Have you known Mason long?” 

Great. Just what he needed. Hallucinations and a morning person. “A while.” All he wanted was coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. No coffee no talkie. Was that too much to ask?

“’Cos he seems all buddy buddy with you and I kind of thought there might be some father son dynamic going on there?”

Were there any polite ways of saying buzz off? Sadly none that his mother would approve of. Sigh. “We worked together for a while.”

“Do you think all men are difficult to talk to or just all the men I meet?” 

Was she was still talking to him or herself at this point?

“Ah. My two favourite people.” Connor strolled into the room in a smoking jacket, looking like he’d yet to go to bed. When Jessica had become one of his favourite people Rufus couldn’t say for sure. She’d still been in the drawing room when he’d left last night, drinking with the night owls. Maybe she and Connor had bonded. Maybe Connor was still drunk. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Right back at ya.” Jessica shot an imaginary finger gun which delighted the older man who bypassed the food and went straight to the singular pot of tea, adding three sugars and a slice of lemon before pouring. 

Once satisfied he made his way over to Rufus, lowering himself carefully into a chair. “Have you had any thoughts on my proposition?”

Rufus shot a startled look in Jessica’s direction but Connor was completely un-phased, even while the woman openly earwigged.

“It is rather time sensitive.”

Oh boy. Connor on a mission was a force to be reckoned with. “I’m not saying no but-”

“Things are progressing more quickly than I had assumed they would.” Connor overrode him and sipped, ever watchful. “I should, no doubt, have remembered my American vernacular. ‘Assume makes an ass out of you and me’.” He chuckled. “I do so enjoy your way with words.”

Distraction only worked if you didn’t know he was doing it. “I really think-”

“You brought the things I requested?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Excellent. How long will it take for you to set up?” He made it sound as though he wanted them to install a new laptop not several miles of cable and…

“If you help, a couple of hours but-”

Connor sat up abruptly, his jacket gaping to reveal last night’s shirt now loose about his neck. “Absolutely not.” His head shook in one quick motion, his little finger wagging at the side of his cup. “Under no circumstances must I touch any of the recording equipment.” 

Feeling like he was explaining to a child Rufus tried, “It’s not like it’s going to matter. No-one’s going to believe-”

“I don’t care what everyone believes, dear boy. There needs to be an account.” He stood. “Be ready tonight.” And he swept from the room before Rufus had a chance to reply.

“You have any idea what he was talking about there, Champ?” Jessica asked once he was gone.

Rufus sighed, staring mournfully into his empty cup. “Unfortunately.”

***

Usually an early riser Flynn didn’t make it down to breakfast until well past eight. By then the room was buzzing with people and conversations and so much white noise. He kept to the outside edges, picked up a random selection of food and contemplated returning to him room. His head felt thick, that hideous feeling he got when he overslept enough to put him in a bad mood all by itself. What felt like dozens of people chorusing ‘good morning’ added insult to injury.

He’d slept poorly again. Until recently dreams had been his long anticipated companions. Each night would bring a new twist for his latest project or a solution to the dead-end he’d reached before he closed his eyes. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d wake in the morning with the memory of Lorena clear and true for those handful of seconds before dreams dissipated and reality claimed him once more. So why his brain had suddenly chosen to take a walk on the wild side was a mystery.

He knew how to fall asleep quickly. He knew how to clear his mind and breathe. Even in the smaller units of the Balkans they taught the two minute rule. So every night he employed his training and willed himself to relax. Every night he lay in the darkness hoping this would be the night he managed to rest. And every night, for what was beginning to feel like half a lifetime, he woke out of breath, chasing, searching, desperate, knowing that he was out of time, knowing that something more important than air was slipping away from him.

He’d tried to write it out, recorded everything he remembered but it read like the sketches of a blind man trying to describe colour. He’d thought perhaps it was late onset reaction to what had happened to Lorena, to the knowledge that after all this time bringing those responsible to account was finally within his grasp, but the images he did recall were of horses and wagon wheels, or cravats and corsets. So he slept badly and, without Iris to keep him on schedule, rose late.

In the noise - the clatter of cutlery, the ever present hum of other people - the morning stretched endlessly before him. Hours of pretending he was like the others here. Hours of making nice when he knew what lurked beneath the smiles. He’d spent so long waiting - skulking in the dark places, finding the answers excruciating piece by piece while pretending it was all research for his latest best seller - that waiting even a handful of hours longer filed him with rage. He wanted to charge in, blow everything skyward and see how the pieces fell. See the look on their faces when they realised who he really was. Of course, while satisfying, that path led only to temporary gratification. No, while frustrating, the best plan was to continue on as he had been, to hold back and hand them enough rope to hang themselves. He just needed a little more time, one window of opportunity and then…

Close to the picture window he caught a glimpse of dark chocolate hair and winced. Lucy Preston. The moment he’d seen her yesterday he’d known who she was. How could he not? Her picture smiled out from the jacket of every one of her books, all carefully lined up on the bookcase closest to his writing desk at home. Touching her had thrown him, that frisson of sensation electrifying even in its brevity, as he’d stopped her drink from staining her dress. And her dress. Holy hell. Demure but beautiful, the burgundy against her cream skin startling.

Foolishly he’d wanted to make a good first impression but her sister had started talking and she’d slipped away from him. Fate had taken pity and placed her next to him at dinner but instead of telling her how wonderful she was, instead of dazzling her with his wit and charm (who was he kidding – the only place he was good at any of that stuff was through the mouths of his characters) he told her he found her work ‘quite good’. He was a bloody novelist. For the past nine years he’d made the art of language pay well enough to support Iris and himself in a certain level of luxury and his best description of writing that moved and inspired him was ‘quite good’? He may even have made some off-hand remark about one sided historical perspectives. He really hoped he was imagining that one. She must think he was all kinds of snobbish idiot.

Of course he shouldn’t care what she thought of him at all. He needed to stay focused. He was so close. 

Why couldn’t they have met next weekend? Or the weekend after? 

“Penny for them?”

The young woman from the evening before hovered in front of him, hot chocolate and an apple Danish balanced in her hands, an uncertain furrow lining her striking face before she visibly made a choice and sat down next to him.

“Jiya?” He tried, hoping he’d got it right.

“Yes. Do you prefer Flynn or Garcia?”

“Either works.”

“Jessica calls you Flynn.”

He remembered the first time he’d asked her to call him Garcia. She’d moved her mouth through the syllables then declared there was no way she was wasting her breath on that every time. “Whatever you’re happy with.”

“I’d be happier if this weekend was over if I’m honest.” She pulled a piece of the pastry apart and delicately placed it into her mouth, savouring it but obviously miserable. 

“Not much for weekend dinner parties?”

“The food’s great. It’s why we were invited that’s the problem.” Her cup stopped half way to her mouth as she looked over the rim at him, aware she’d said more than she intended.

He let it go, filing the slip away to be pulled out and pondered over later. “Personally I’m trying to think of it as a trip out of time.”

“Like _Quantum Leap_?” She gave him the once over. “Sorry, but you don’t look like Sam Beckett to me.”

She was bit young to know that show wasn’t she? Still. “At least I’d have Al in my ear, helping out.”

The thought seemed to tickle her. “Can you imagine? He’d have his trench coat covering his PJs and a cigar sticking out of his mouth, slapping Ziggy to get it to recalculate the odds of there really being ghosts in the walls.”

Mischief prodded him to play along. “And what do you suppose the odds are Miss Marri?”

Talking out of the side of her mouth she gave a fairly awful impression. “Less than eight percent probability.”

“We’re onto a winner here then.”

They shared a smile and a change of topic. “Do you know much about the Cahill Foundation?”

Far more than he wanted. “Philanthropic society, charitable works, that sort of thing?”

“Connor says they’re planning to turn this place into a wellness spa once they sign the papers next week.” The dubious look she gave the room displayed a certain amount of skepticism as to their chances.

Garcia was with her there. Short of demolishing the house and starting again conversion to pools and hot tubs would be no easy task. “You know, I read about Mason and his tech empire several years ago. He was a leading force in the industry until one day he seemed to all but disappear. The mystery of it held a certain appeal, given my chosen subject matter.” He smiled, remembering the story that had been born from the ideas he’d had reading the article. “I never imagined he’d hide himself in the middle of the countryside though. I always thought he’d be underground somewhere working on a top secret project.”

Returning to her plate Jiya found another bite sized pastry piece to consume before suggesting, “I’m surprised he’d stayed out of the spotlight this long.”

Interesting. “From an outsiders perspective the media stories of his antics all smacked of exaggeration. I mean firework displays that cost tens of thousands to say thank you to his tailor? Paragliding into board meetings?” He gave an elegant shrug.

“He did that.”

An arched brow.

“When I was an intern at Mason Industries. They were holding an event on the roof to celebrate the latest profit figures and he just swooped in. Knocked me clean into Rufus. It’s how we met.”

“Love at first bump?”

She smiled large. “More like him awkwardly stuttering then me trying to catch his eye for the next couple of months while he hid from me. In the end I took matters into my own hands, cornered him and asked him out.”

“It obviously worked.” Everything about them screamed couple. “Did I hear the two of you were also in business together now?”

Her smile dimmed. “Yeah. We’re just out of our first year.”

“Technology sector?”

A nod.

“The competition must be fierce.”

Her eyes said it all. “We’re breaking even now. We specialise in different areas but the crossover really works for us, you know? Or we thought it would but the first couple of months we didn’t even make enough to eat. If Connor hadn’t sent some of his contacts in our direction …”

“That’s quite a gesture on his part.” One that obviously came with a cost.

“It does make it kind of hard to say no to him.”

“I can’t imagine many people say no to Connor Mason.”

She drained her cup and offered a half smile, half shrug. “The Foundation have.”

Ah. The house.

“He’s tried to remove the entailment?” He’d be insane not to. The place had to be worth seven figures easy.

“He offered to buy them out.”

Flynn picked up something and ate without looking, surprised to find himself consuming pickled herring. Could have been worse. “They weren’t interested?”

“Apparently Cahill himself intervened. Connor told Rufus he’d spouted on about the quality of the bloodline and how it was tied to the very mortar that held the bricks of this house together.” She rolled her eyes heavenwards. “If that’s his take on family can you imagine what his Thanksgiving dinners must be like?”

***

Cahill found her in the library, his snake oil charm enough to dampen her wonder at the array of first editions and beautifully preserved décor.

“Dr Preston. I wondered if I might find you tucked away somewhere.”

Lucy couldn’t say exactly what it was about the man but she found herself casting a discrete look at the door to check if it was closed, the desire not to be alone with him stronger than she would have expected. 

“Mr Cahill. I was just admiring the collections.” She shifted several feet to the side, giving herself a better line to the exit.

He smiled and the impression of slick, used car salesman increased. “Yes. It’s quite extensive isn’t it?” He pulled out a book at random, cracked the spine (Lucy managed to hide her wince but only just) and paged through it as though it was the latest pulp fiction rather than a two hundred year old copy of _Faust_. “The Cahills have always been avid collectors.”

Unable to help herself she took the poor book from him and carefully closed it, checking for damage then returning it to its home on the shelf. She’d have given a lot for white gloves to handle it with the care and respect it deserved. How did a person politely tell the soon-to-be-owner of such treasures not to touch them like that _ever_ again? They didn’t of course. Not if they wanted to keep them on side because their kid sister needed an interview and by playing nice they might just be able to swing it for her. Mental note. Kill Amy at the first possible opportunity.

“You must be excited to be regaining ownership of the Manor?” 

His eyes turned dark. “It should never have left the family’s hands.”

“Connor said the circumstances surrounding the entailment were unusual.” In the light of day, with shards of sunlight picking out the dust motes through the drapes it was easy enough to laugh off ghost stories, although Lucy wouldn’t mind learning more about poor Mildred or the other young woman who was supposed to have died here. Three hundred years of history. What must these walls have seen? How many stories - that had tendrils interlaced with those of other families and from there to historical events that changed the world - must they have been party to?

“My great-grandfather had an unfortunate episode that we paid heavily for.” Cahill gave her an assessing look. “It’s actually something I was hoping to discuss with you.”

What in the world for? “Me?” 

He indicated a pair of Queen Anne chairs set either side of an intricately carved side table. Lucy doubted they were replicas. She perched hesitantly.

“Once Manor Grange is back in the family I’ll want someone to come in and itemise the house, record the providence, compile the family’s history with them, that sort of thing.” Given the size of the building and the items she’d seen in a very short time that was no small task. “Your background would make you an ideal candidate.”

This was a job offer? “That’s an interesting idea, Mr Cahill, but I think it might be outside my areas of expertise.”

He steepled his fingers. “Come now, no need to be modest. You were valedictorian, have a first class honours degree, a PhD in History and Anthropology, not to mention being a Stanford Professor. I understand you have yet to make tenure, but I’m sure with a slight change in focus towards more traditional history and the right connections it’s only a matter of time.”

It was illogical to feel creeped out that he knew so much about her – he would have had someone do the scut work so he was sure she was qualified before offering her the job - but she did. “You’ve obviously got your facts in order. However I’m a historian of people and events not an art historian.”

A smile that was neither polished nor particularly pleasant greeted her. “Your professional history speaks for itself Lucy. May I call you Lucy?” Too late to ask now wasn’t it? “But I must admit I do have a rather more personal perspective to apply here. Your mother and I go back a ways and she speaks very highly of your aptitude.”

Lucy didn’t know what to be more surprised about, her mother knowing this man and never mentioning it – she’d definitely developed a thing for contacts in high places over the past six years – or that her mother had thought to speak highly of anything she’d done in that time. “Really?”

A nod and sweep back of thinning hair that hadn’t moved. “She thought you might enjoy a short secondment away from teaching - some time to re-evaluate your position on certain things shall we say? - so that your tenure case was stronger when you returned.”

The hell with that. 

“It sounds as though you two have had lots of time to talk.” There was that instinct again. Warning bells and the desire to leave. Fast.

His smile slid back into place and Lucy had to bite off the urge to check her pockets to make sure her wallet was still where she’d put it. “We’ve kept in touch over the years.”

The way he was looking at her added to the urge to bolt. “Funny, she never mentioned you.” If she had there was nothing, not even Amy, that could have convinced Lucy to come here. Her mother’s chess skills were legendary and Lucy had no desire to be a pawn in whatever game she was playing now.

He tilted his head to the side, studying her intently, giving off what he obviously thought of as some sort of patriarchal smile. “Carol does like to keep her little secrets doesn’t she?” As though this was a joke they could somehow share.

“Benjamin!” A voice spoke from the corner of the room, ice and exasperation. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Lucy double checked the closed library door. Where the hell had Emma Whitmore sprung from?

Cahill was clearly not surprised. Had she missed the sound of the door? “Ah Emma, darling. You remember Carol’s daughter, Lucy?”

The other woman’s hand was frigid, as were her eyes. “The history teacher.”

Wow, talk about damning with faint praise. “I’m actually a Doctor of History with a PhD.”

Emma didn’t even deign to respond to that, turning instead to Cahill and taking his hand. “Your first meeting was due to start five minutes ago. Master Sergeant Logan is waiting.”

He sighed, nodded and rose in quick succession. “It’s been delightful Lucy. I look forward to our next meeting.”

She was glad someone did, but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth exited the room as fast as discretion would allow only to barrel into Amy.

“Watch it Sis.” The younger woman grasped both Lucy’s upper arms in an attempt to steady herself.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you…” Lucy looked from Amy’s position to the door she’d just come through. “Why are you right outside the library door?”

Amy raised her shoulders and widened her eyes. “Just passing?” She tried.

“And I’m the reincarnation of Eleanor Roosevelt.”

“You really are no fun you know?”

Shuffling them both to side and looking both ways down the now empty corridor Lucy tried not to hiss. “You’ve got to stop listening at doors. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”

“Can’t blame a girl for being curious.” Amy popped a small shot glass down on the closest surface as though it was the most natural thing in the world that she should have been carrying it in the first place.

Lucy had resigned herself to the fact there was no way her sister was going to change. Better to just go with it. “So what did you think?”

“About what?”

Although, sometimes maybe a quick kick in the proverbial might be needed to help the girl focus. “Give it a rest. You’ve already admitted you were listening.”

Less than impressed at being called out Amy defended, “As if I could hear anything when the walls are this thick.”

Lucy gave the doorway and the walls another look. They had to be at least four foot deep. She gave them an exploratory tap and smiled, delighted. “They’re not actually.”

“Well I was the one trying to hear and let me tell you-“

“No, Goose, they’re not solid. They conceal the servant’s stairs. No wonder I didn’t hear Emma come in.”

“???”

“The aristocracy didn’t want to see the maids and butlers going about their daily work so old houses like this are riddled with obscured entrances to hide the stairs they used to move about unseen. This is one of them.”

“You mean like secret passageways?”

“They’d be on the blue prints so I don’t know how secret you’d consider them.”

But Amy wasn’t listening. Instead she was running her fingers over the wall trying to find a way to open it. “This is so cool!”

Of course she wasn’t quite so excited when the door opened and the skeleton fell on her.

***

Jessica flopped down onto the wooden bench that ran around the inside of what could loosely be described as a gazebo, wrapped up in coat, hat, scarf and boots. November was possibly the worst time of year to be exploring gardens that had long since gone into hibernation.

“Can we get out of here yet?”

Flynn stood leaning against the entrance listening with half an ear. “Too cold?”

“Not out of the garden tour. Out of here.” She opened her arms wide, certain that the gesture spoke volumes.

Catching up quickly he huffed, “I bring you to all the best places. Five star accommodation…”

“Bizarre old people who talk in riddles or about themselves non-stop…”

“High culture experiences thrown in for free…”

“My ex making a jackass of himself…”

He stopped their little game, face serious. “Logan’s been making more of a nuisance of himself?”

She shrugged, going for off-hand but coming off more dramatically put out. “He’s stuck is all. He’s got himself convinced he can re-write the past and everything will be just peachy. God forbid they ever invent a time machine!”

“I’d say it’s the writer in him but I’ve read his first book.” Resting his dark head back Garcia started to snore.

A wool lined mitten hit him in the head. “You’re awful!”

He winked. “I’m honest.”

Having proof-read the book in question she could hardly argue. “You might have a point.”

Flynn swept out a devilish bow which was rewarded when Jessica sat forward with a smile.

“He says he’s giving it up anyway.” 

Biting the inside of his cheek Flynn concentrated on holding back the sarcastic one-liner and letting her get this off her chest.

“I think he’s on the level. I mean, he only started writing because the VA shrink said it might be therapeutic. If you ask me it was more triggering than anything else.”

He didn’t like the man but he could empathise. “PTSD does strange things to a person.”

Jessica gave him a sharp, assessing look before continuing, “Apparently he wants to get into security. I don’t know if he means private bodyguard or what but the Cahill Foundation just offered him a position and he’s going to take it.”

Garcia hoped he knew what he was getting himself into.

“He wants us to try again.” Jess’s head flopped back on the railing, a sigh escaping her. 

Flynn moved over to join her. “What do you want?”

She rolled her head to the side to see him, eyes swirling with sadness and determination. “I want him to be happy, like the kid I used to know, you know?” He remained mute, waiting. “But I don’t want us to get back together.”

“You’ve told him that?”

“I divorced the man for heaven’s sake. Surely that’s enough of a clue?”

“Some people,” she coughed loudly and he help up his hands in surrender, “mostly men, need you to spell things out for them in very simple language. None negotiable.”

She held his gaze for a minute before levering herself up, a new fire lit from within. “You’re right. No subtly. Straight up.”

“Jessica?”

“I’m going to tell Wyatt he’s history and he can stay that way.” Then she marched out of the gazebo, back straight, and off to what would be the latest of the Logan showdowns.

He’d created a monster.

With all that chaotic energy gone and the quite literal dust settling, the gardens were peaceful if barren. Flynn took a moment to appreciate the calm, lulled by the crackle from the last of autumn’s leaves and the gusting of the wind that was starting to pick up. The air smelt of rain, a childhood memory held close to his heart. Perhaps there’s be thunder and the sky would pulse with ‘natures fireworks’ as his Tata used to call it. He could hope.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement and had a second to reflect that solitude should never be taken for granted before he turned his head to hail the new arrival. Only there was no-one there. He thought he’d seen…? He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Sleep deprivation was used as torture for a reason.

When he looked up again he was sure he caught sight of something blue darting behind a tree. Was there someone there?

“Hello?”

For an answer came a laugh, distant in a way the tree wasn’t, but there and a flash of blue again, this time one tree over. Curious he stood and moved towards the sound, only to find it had moved. Behind him. Behind the gazebo.

“Who’s there?”

A melodious sound drifted to his ears, a song whose tune and words were unfamiliar, but that for all the world sounded like a lullaby he should know. He spun in a circle, trying to locate the sound but finding nothing. He checked behind the trees, the ground around them untouched. He looked higher, expecting to see speakers or a camera to show the prank for what it was, only to find bark and mostly bare branches.

Looking back towards the shelter he could almost make out the shape of a woman, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders and face, the ends obscuring the child who lay in her lap. She sang softly as she stroked the child’s face and for one heart stopping moment Garcia was sure he’d seen this before, heard that voice. He wanted to go to them, to sit with them and listen, to talk quietly once the child was asleep and hear the woman tell him… He blinked and the image was gone.

“Are you ok?” Lucy Preston was stood beside him. When had that happened?

“I, er, yes.” The gazebo was empty, the air around them almost silent. He was quite possibly losing his mind.

Her open face held concern. “I called out but you didn’t answer.”

Wonderful. She already thought he was some sort of literary snob. Now she could add ignorant to his list of faults.

“I guess I got caught up in my thoughts.” And started imagining strange women and children. Did he still have Dr Christopher’s number?

“You looked pale and I wanted to check everything was ok.” She was backing away from him. “I shouldn’t have intruded.” She tried for a quick smile. “Sorry.” Any second now she was going to turn and run. He had to stop her.

“Did you pass anyone else?” _Stay and talk to me. Save me from myself._

Her eyebrows rose as her eyes flashed from side to side, scowering what he already knew to be a desolate landscape. At least she wasn’t backing away any more.

“Amy and I bumped into Jessica?” Why the question? Was it that obvious he was seeing things? “My sister decided to stay and tell her about the skeleton while I continued to walk.”

No strange women in blue then. Had she said..? “Skeleton?”

Her laugh was a beautiful thing, a balm to his soul. “We found one of the Manor’s servant’s doors and Amy managed to get it open, of course, but as soon as she did this pile of bones collapsed out of the ceiling.” Her hands drew pictures in the air, her face animated and flushed. It was adorable and sexy as hell. “As you can imagine, total chaos ensued. There were screams and Mr Logan came running, followed by Rufus, Jiya and eventually Connor who took one look at the mess and said he knew he’d put that somewhere for the Halloween party and went back to wherever he’d come from.”

Her smile was infectious. “Sounds like I missed all the fun.” It sounded wonderfully normal and sane.

“Well, I pretty much died when it fell on top of Amy so I imagine we looked quite a picture.”

Yes, he was losing his mind to sleep deprivation. Yes, he ought to be focussing on why he was really here. And yes, he was far too old for her and she was just humouring him. But they were talking and he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth yet. It was possibly a first.

“You two are very close.” There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

She looked up at him and he was caught again by the sparkle in her eyes, all that swirling brown intensity that shone with intelligence and love. “She’s a brat but she’s the best. I wouldn’t be without her.”

“You’re lucky.” He and his brother hadn’t spoken since his mother’s funeral. Maybe it was time to try and change that?

“I know.” She swallowed. “I almost lost her a while ago. I don’t know what I’d have done.”

They’d fallen into step with each other somewhere along the way. He wanted to reach out and take her smaller hand in his own, only the house appeared around the next corner and broke the strange intimacy they seemed to have formed, common sense returning just in the nick of time. Too old, he reminded himself. Too broken. Too bitter. 

“Oh?” That didn’t mean he couldn’t make this moment stretch out for just a little longer though.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and looked off to the tree line that marked the edge of the property, her voice tinged with humour and sadness. “My father was obsessed with trains. We’re talking serious compulsion here. He’d drive us out to Kentucky for the day if it meant seeing an engine. It drove my mom nuts. Anyway, one Sunday about six years ago he convinced Amy to join him as he went to see a diesel engine he’d been trying to catch a glimpse of forever. A class 37 that was a special import from Europe. A once in a lifetime deal he claimed. She got distracted on the way, saw something in a shop window and stopped, so the car that mounted the pavement and killed him missed her.” She closed her eyes and Flynn’s blood ran cold. “I could have lost them both.”

“Did they catch the driver?” He asked carefully.

“No. Amy got a partial plate. She even managed to remember the make - I wouldn’t have had a clue – but the car and the driver disappeared.”

“What model?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What type of car was it?” He didn’t dare move, afraid he might inspire the nightmare scenario into life.

“A Lincoln.” She frowned. “Why?”

He coughed to try and clear his throat, his mind racing a million miles a second, police photographs he wished he could un-see flicking through his mind like an old animation. He could feel the blood draining from his face but he had other issues right now, issues like not blurting out things that couldn’t and wouldn’t help the woman in front of him but that could destroy his ability to avenge the woman he’d lost.

“Would you excuse me? I’ve just remembered I was supposed to call home.”

She blinked a couple of times, blushing hotly, stepping away, pulling in on herself. “Oh. Of course.” Her shoulders hunched, her head lowered and at any other time he would have kicked himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you so long. I don’t normally go on like this.” Her voice was disappearing with her and he wanted it to stop, wanted to explain but couldn’t. “Sorry.” Then she turned and practically ran to the house.

In the shadow of the house, as he watched her retreat, he wondered. How could he not? It was too much of a coincidence. Two hit and runs. Two Lincolns. Had the car that hit Lucy’s father been black? Had the man been tied to the Cahill Foundation in some way like Lorena? Did Lucy know about Rittenhouse?


	3. Saturday part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone reveals a little more while something else plots. Lucy tries to ignore Flynn, while the man himself has other issues. Amy and Jessica get closer.

“So?” Amy beamed, “How’d it go?”

Lucy blinked. Dumb wind, making her eyes water. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Nah ah.” Amy wouldn’t let her pass. “We saw you come round the corner; talking, stood close together.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Spill.”

The tilt of blonde hair brought home just who the ‘we’ Amy was referring to was and Lucy once again wished the ground would open up and swallow her. First the look on Flynn’s face, as if she made a habit of sharing personal details with virtual strangers, and now his PA was on hand to witness her humiliation. “It was bad.” 

“God Lucy!” Amy hugged her tight. “Tell me you didn’t get all gushy and tell him about your total fan-girl-ing over him!”

Lucy’s cheeks glowed so bright they could probably see her from space. She buried her head in her hands but innate honesty made her admit. “Worse.”

“What??! Did you propose of something?” As Lucy was still hiding her face Amy drew her own conclusions. “No way. Lucy what were you thinking?”

“I told him how dad died.” Her voice was small but it must have carried.

Amy’s arms dropped away as her jaw hit the floor. “You didn’t! You did! How..?”

“Just … leave it ok?” Stumbling back a step or two Lucy worked hard not to let her natural clumsiness compound her shame. “I’ll,” she drew in a breath and gritted her teeth, “I’ll see you in a while, ok?”

“Lucy…”

There was no chance she was staying there any longer. A quite room. Curling up on a chair with a book. Pretending today had never happened. That’s what she needed, not the nth degree. A couple of hours to wallow and she’d be fine. She might even be able to pretend she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself in front of the man she’d idolised for years.

Amy stared after her sister for a moment. Damn but for all her smarts the girl had no game whatsoever. 

Jessica waited until Lucy was out of sight before asking, “Fan-girl crush?”

Sisterly loyalty was one thing but Jess was hot. There was no contest really. “Oh yeah. Total obsession. She’s read everything he’s written, got every book, she’s even got a couple that are autographed. If you knew Lucy you’d know she’s a stickler for the rules so it was a big deal when she ended her lectures early to watch him being interviewed on TV. She says his works fill something empty inside of her, as though they were written just for her. Direct quote.” Amy linked arms with the other woman and started walking around the back of the house. Lucy was no doubt burying her head at that moment and would need at least an hour to process before Amy could do any support system reset anyway. “There’s this folder she thinks I don’t know about too, where she keeps clippings of interviews he’s done.” She winked, “Just don’t tell her I told you ‘cos much as she loves me I wouldn’t live through the fallout from that.”

Jessica laughed, all teeth and sunshiny Texan. Perfect.

“So. Flynn. Caring, sharing hugger?”

Another smile, a quick cast around to make sure they were alone and then a step closer so that she could speak in confidence. Better and better. “Are we talking about the same Garcia Flynn?”

“Lucy has a type.”

“Best warn her off fast then. The man is harder than a walnut.” At Amy’s frown Jess quickly added, “He’s got depths though. The prickly pear outlook is mostly because he isn’t a big fan of people knowing his business if you ask me, but if you live long enough to get through the shell he’s the best.”

Amy sighed, despairing for her sister and by extension herself. If Lucy was avoiding Flynn she’d no doubt stick with Amy which meant no time to pursue pretty blondes. “Lucy might not make it that far.”

“She seems like she might be able to hold her own?”

“In a professional sense, absolutely. Total ballbreaker. Her ex-boss tried to brow beat her into lowering her academic standards for a Senator’s son but she wasn’t having a bar of it, said if he couldn’t pass her class on merit he wouldn’t pass at all.”

“Bet that went down like a lead balloon.”

“No kidding. The Department Head tanked her tenure submission but he was going to do that anyway. Lucy wanted to add more women’s history to the syllabus, you know, focus on those women whose roles are intrinsically linked to the development of America, like Jane Adams and Harriet Tubman, which is not _au fait_ with the old white man thinking of the department as a whole.” The fire that had burned in her sisters eyes when she’d come home and announced she’d quit and was ‘going to write history books until she found a more progressive university that understood modern America was built on the back of both men and women alike’ still awed her.

“So…”

Dr Lucy Preston, historian, was fearless. Lucy Preston left in her own head with their mother’s voice making her doubt herself on an endless loop? There was a mass of self-depreciation and relationship disasters. “She’s attracted to universally unavailable men. They always have a burning issue which she listens to and helps them come to terms with, they get close, she opens up just enough for it to hurt then the guy realises he’s grown or something and goes back to his ex, or flies off to find himself. The last one worked out he was gay.”

“Ouch.”

“Yup. I keep trying to tell her she needs someone who listens to her as well, but what do I know?” Now that they were on the subject though, “You got any horror stories?”

Jessica was no dummy. After a quick once over of Amy she allowed herself to lean in closer, happy to share. “One possessive ex who I was on the way to yell at when we bumped into each other and a couple of casual things.”

“The military guy?” Bummer. Obstacle number two and counting.

She nodded. “Wyatt. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s lost right now but he’ll get over it.”

“It must be awkward having him here though?”

They’d rounded the house and reached the formal gardens, a light drizzle beginning to blur the air. Up ahead the door to the orangery stood ajar - their way back inside - but neither woman made any move to enter. “He’s convinced Flynn and I are having an affair so he tends to get himself upset and make a scene but mostly that’s just him blaming someone else for his own issues.”

“You and Flynn?”

“Not in this lifetime.” Jessica deliberately shuddered. “I have very different preferences these days.”

Amy opened her mouth to confirm what she already knew when a voice overrode her.

“Mama?”

The women turned towards the sound and the open door. There was no-one there. Curious, Amy went to take a closer look, checking around outside before entering the building.

The room was humid, the glass panes steamed over, pockets of greenery helping to add to the tropical nature even as the cold air from outside sneaked in through the opening. Jessica quickly pulled the door closed and peeked behind a fern. “Does Mason have a kid we don’t know about?” 

“Nah. Jiya said the closest Connor ever came is Rufus.” Had the child been further inside? The door connecting the room to the main house was firmly closed, swollen into its frame and hard to move. It would have been impossible for little hands to open.

Jessica shrugged, “Must be one of the servant’s kids.” She’d moved close again which was nice. Amy looked around, sure they were alone yet uncertain how the child had managed to vanish. However, now that they were out of the damp, cocooned in the hot house, it would probably be a good time to-

“Mama?” The voice was closer but tinny, an edge of fear cutting through any intimacy.

“Kid?”

They parted and made short work of searching the empty room. “Where are they?”

“Jessica?” Amy stood in front of a window thick with condensation, head tilted to one side, eyebrows drawn together in consternation. As Jess approached she saw what Amy had. Closer to the ground the water had been wiped away in a small patch allowing a view of the western most corner of the building, the front tower visible above the line of the house.

Jessica shot another look at the room. “Kid? You in here?”

No answer.

Amy looked from one exit to the other. “Both doors are closed. He must have left before you shut the outside door.”

“I was stood right next to it. No-one passed me.”

“You’re sure?”

Jess sucked in her cheeks. “I’d have noticed a small person tripping over my toes.”

“So where are they?”

“Mama!” This time it was a scream.

Their heads snapped in the direction of the sound, towards the window with the patch wiped clean, only to find two small handprints either side of it.

“What the hell?”

***

“One rat and I’m out of here.” Jiya wiggled further into the crawl space dragging the reel of cable behind her.

“Rats?” Rufus shone his flashlight quickly side to side. “Where?”

“I didn’t say there were rats, just that if I saw one I was gone.”

“Not before me.”

“It’s comforting to know the age of chivalry isn’t dead.”

“I’d jump in front of a bus for you, Ji, I’d give you my last Chocodile, but you get the rats ok?”

The last two hours had been long. Normally they worked with much smaller tech in much larger spaces but Connor had been adamant.

“Remind me again why he isn’t doing this?”

“His suits are tailored. Apparently it makes all the difference.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want one to get of those dirty.”

“You’re just mad about the cobwebs.”

Just because he was right didn’t mean she had to admit it. “You really want to do this now?”

“No.”

They crawled forward a way, checking the gratings against the schematics. “I’m just saying…”

“I know.”

“If you know why are we doing this?”

Rufus took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then counted to ten again. That was supposed to clear your head right? “I owe him.”

“Gratitude can only take you so far. As far as I can see, this is the limit.”

It would be easier to have this conversation when he wasn’t talking to her butt. Actually it was probably easier talking to her butt right now. “I’ve told him this is the last time.”

“Until next time.”

“No. This is it. He’s my friend. I, well I kind of, you know, think highly of him.” He could almost hear Jiya rolling her eyes. “But we’re not getting mixed up in his plots or dramas anymore.”

They shuffled forward slowly, unwinding, connecting, clipping and adjusting, until they hit a T-junction. ”Uh, Jiya?”

“Give me a minute.”

He was tempted to whistle until he remembered she had a kick like a mule.

“Jiya?” He tried again when she stayed where she was. “Is there a problem?”

She looked back, braid cracking like a whip, eyes shining in the torchlight. “We’ve gone wrong somewhere.”

Rufus looked back into the eons of gloom behind them and forward to the junction ahead. “Not funny.”

“Not joking.” She sighed, rubbing at her nose and smudging it with dirt.

“We’re following the plans.” The space was restricted. There was no way to turn around in it. If they’d screwed up they’d have to crawl backwards forever to undo it, not to mention all the rewind of cable. He’d rather gnaw off his own finger.

“I thought we were but this isn’t right.” She vaguely indicated the T.

He shuffled forwards until he was close enough reach over her shoulder and take the paper map from her. “Let me see.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He did. Of the two of them she was much better at navigation than him but if there was even the smallest chance they wouldn’t have to start again he was taking it. 

He huffed out a sigh. She wasn’t wrong. The layout looked like ancient Arabic but once you worked out where they’d started it was easier to decipher. He traced their route and came to the same conclusion she had. There wasn’t supposed to be a T-junction.

“I can’t see how though.”

They wasted another couple of minutes trying to find any branches they might have veered wrong at but found none until Jiya finally threw out a last ditch option. “That could be wrong.” She jabbed her finger at the offending blueprint.

“The map?”

Rufus was a fan of following directions in small, dark places when his back ached and he’d had really had high hopes of being done in a short space of time. With that hope vanishing faster than food into his brother’s bottomless stomach he was willing to consider other options.

Apparently Jiya felt the same way. “I vote we choose a tunnel and see where it goes.” 

As options went it could be worse.

They moved left and agreed to use the cable to trace the way back if it came to it. It took a while but soon the space started to lighten, an exit ahead. Rufus sighed in relief. He didn’t have a problem with small spaces per se but enough was enough, so when Jiya came to a dead stop and tensed up in front of him he ground his teeth. 

“Shh.” She hissed.

“What?” He tried to whisper, cough-choking at the dryness of his throat.

“I think we’ve hit to one of the bedrooms and someone’s in there.”

“Great. Now they’re going to think we’re all manner of pervs.”

She started to shimmy back but he caught the voices and held his ground. “Rufus.”

“Shh.”

He wasn’t an eavesdropper by nature. Curious, yes, but his mom had once bent his ear when she caught him listening to things that didn’t concern him and he’d learned his lesson well. Connor’s name kept him in place.

“And the non-compete clause would prevent your research from being used by Mason Industries.”

“But you would want me to extend my research out of the theoretical?”

“You’re papers were very precise, Dr Bruhl. I’m led to believe that a simple investment would be enough to advance your research exponentially.”

“Of course your financial backing would be more than welcome Mr Cahill but the application of quantum mechanics to a real world project of this size and magnitude?” Bruhl seemed momentarily lost for words. “It could take years.”

“Money is no object.”

“I…” It sounded like there were tears in the other man’s voice. “This is a dream come-”

“I would need a small favour from you in the interim.”

“A favour?”

“A small build. Nothing challenging for a man of your talents.”

“What exactly-”

A rustle of paper. “As you can see it’s a mere trifle.”

“And you would want this to…”

“Work, Dr Bruhl. I’d want it to work.” The edge in Cahill’s voice was not forgiving.

More rustling. “So this would find…”

“An item.” Wow, real descriptive. The least people who were being eavesdropped on could do was been more specific. “It has been lost for quite some time but I’m led to believe this will provide the means of finding it. It should be located somewhere within the house and grounds.”

“That’s it?” A short hesitation. “And this _item_ emits a frequency that the locator should pick up on?”

“So the last historian would have me believe.” There was something in the way he said it that implied nothing good had happened to that person.

A long silence followed before, “What did you say this item did again?”

“I didn’t.”

***

Pacing wasn’t helping. It was currently stopping him from tearing through the house, finding Lucy and doing something he regretted to get answers, but it definitely wasn’t helping. 

Now an internet signal. That would help. Of course in this hell-hole anything more advanced than Morse code seemed fanciful. No cell signal. No laptop connectivity. Not even a PC as far as he could tell. Mason was a _jebeni_ whizz with electronics and the best he had was a wall light??? 

Flynn needed information. He needed a way to access information. Lucy might have that. He could… No. 

He kept pacing.

There were many benefits from having a brain that retained information the way his did. His career prospects, for example, had always been good. When his mother had told him it was both a blessing and a curse to be close to genius level intelligent he had privately laughed. _Dragi Bože_ he’d been a cocky idiot. Now he understood. Puzzle pieces by the thousand and no way to connect them. Loose ends enough to hang himself.

He needed to calm down. This was too important to get wrong. He needed to go back to the beginning, to work out what he knew and what he needed to find out.

Lorena had been a translator. The company she’d worked for had been a shell corporation of the Cahill Foundation’s. He hadn’t known that until after she died, until he’d gone looking. That had been his first act of stupidity. He had been an intelligence operative with the all the skills of a _sranje jede_ Neanderthal. He would never know precisely what she had been working on but he was certain her job had gotten her killed. Her diary had shown a concern she had never voiced. The last entry had been laced with fear and one word. Rittenhouse.

The front presented by the Cahill Foundation was almost impenetrable. Almost. For months all he’d found were good deeds, acts of benevolence, sickeningly sweet charitable works but he’d kept digging. Lorena had once joked about it being his sixth sense, his ability to know something wasn’t quite right. It hadn’t worked with her though. He’d been too close. He couldn’t let his reactions to Lucy lead him astray a second time.

Lorena had seen something she should have, been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they’d disposed of her as if she was no more than a one use glove. The car that hit her had vanished; make, model and plate all gone without a fanfare. He needed to confirm if it was the same for Lucy’s father. He needed to know how he might be connected to the Foundation. He needed to know what he might have known that had gotten him killed. He needed to know what Lucy knew. And he needed to do it all without giving away what he already knew.

The room was ridiculously small when he paced. Sixteen strides, window to door, door to window. 

Could he corner the small historian? Could he talk casually about her father after bolting from the conversation earlier? Could he keep his own council when something about the woman begged him to bare his soul? No. Approaching Lucy would only lead to trouble. He’d do something stupid. No question. Lucy had a sister though. Amy was a whole other kettle of fish. Under no circumstances was he likely to fritz his brain with the idea of kissing Amy. Ergo he’d keep his head and hopefully get some answers.

Also. There was no chance Mason lived miles from civilization with no means of connecting to the information superhighway. If the stories were true (and the red suit last night was probably a good indicator they were) the man lived for attention. He practically fed on it. He would need a source to feed his thirst for knowledge and any press coverage he received. So it stood to reason he had access hidden away somewhere. All Flynn had to do was convince him that allowing Flynn its use was in his best interest. 

Garcia’s thin lips curled. All he really needed to do was work out which angle he wanted to pursue first. And avoid Lucy. Until he’d got it all sorted. Because once he had all the facts… There was that brain fritz again. Having all the facts didn’t mean she’d sigh and fall into his arms. It didn’t actually change anything. Although it might change one thing. If what he suspected was true and he could prove it to her then she might want to help him. She had a formidable mind of her own and together they would make quite the team.

Decision made he strode from the room, snapping the door shut behind him. Had his thoughts not been so tumultuous he might have noticed the temperature difference as he entered the corridor, the rush of warmth after the drawing cold of the bedroom. Had he been anything other than totally focused on his path he might have noticed the fog like particles that had been slowly trying to take substance, now disturbed and scattered into the corners where they seeped back into the walls.

***

There was nothing but cold, panicked puffs of breath freezing into shards of ice. The host was uncooperative, still fighting, unaware the war was lost. It wouldn’t be long now though. Time short enough to count in hours.

They were here.

The last in the line. The upstart. The reason it had failed before.

The way to get it all back.

Three hundred years of waiting was almost over. 

It wouldn’t be like with the last one. Her sex had been the motivation there, the first female in nearly seven generations. It hadn’t been enough. Carelessness had nearly cost everything, the house stolen and the bloodline gone.

But now they were here again. Rittenhouse would be found and then they’d pay.

***

“If you don’t hold still I’m gonna choke you with this!” Jessica was looking at him in that way again, the one she had when he was blowing things so far out of proportion that Armageddon looked small.

Flynn didn’t give a flying fuck.

“Forget it.” He tore the offending bowtie from his neck and threw it fruitlessly. Damn thing floated to the floor to taunt him. Where was a _jebeni_ shredder when he needed one?

It wasn’t her fault. He knew it wasn’t her fault. He just needed the space to breathe. Somewhere the air wasn’t tainted. Then he’d put a lid on the temper welling inside of him and he could manage a civil conversation again. Maybe.

“You gonna tell me what’s up or do you want to play twenty questions?”

“I’ve got it from here Jess.”

“And I didn’t spend most of my working life pouring drinks. You think ten years behind a bar doesn’t teach you things?”

He wanted to snarl, wasn’t sure how he held back other than it was Jessica and she didn’t deserve that.

“Should I ask how your one-to-one with Cahill went?” Sensibly she took a step back.

If they were at home he’d break things. It wouldn’t be right but he’d feel a whole hell of a lot better for it.

“Fine.” The lie rang round the room, over her disbelieving face and back to his own ears.

God damn but he was better than this. Better than that scum sucking… He breathed sharply through his teeth.

_You must feel the loss of your wife more acutely now that your daughter is getting older._

How he’d not knocked the smug son-of-a-bitch’s teeth down his throat would remain a mystery. Sat in a chair, casual as all hell, one foot resting on his knee, talking about Lorena as though he’d never even heard of her. Talking about Iris.

_One of our projects in the Cahill Foundation supports single parents such as yourself. We had hoped you might be interested in donating._

The only fucking thing he’d be donating was the evidence to sink Cahill and his associates so deep they wouldn’t ever be able to come up for air again.

Would he feel calmer if he hadn’t gone into the meeting straight off the back of using Connor’s sleek but discrete tablet? Would it have been better not to walk into the room to talk with Satan’s most trusted advisor knowing that the parallels between Henry Wallace’s death and Lorena were indisputable? Would it have helped if he hadn’t seen Lucy’s birth certificate?

Lucy. Dear god in heaven above. It had taken some finding – he’d had to use the backdoor access he still had at the agency – but once he’d seen Wallace’s police folder and the alarming number of similarities he’d had to figure it out. Cahill’s daughter. Did she know? He didn’t think so. There’d been genuine love when she spoke of Wallace. She’d never even mentioned Cahill.

Was that why she’d been invited this weekend?

Logan had been offered a security job, he’d been pressed for financial commitments, he’d guess several of the other authors had been too, so what did Cahill want from Lucy?

Jiya’s words on Cahill’s family priorities left a bad taste in his mouth. If she wasn’t involved. If she didn’t know. If Cahill laid one finger on her.

His face must have reflected his thoughts because Jessica braved his wrath to ask, “Are you planning to kill me? Because if you are could you make it quick? There’s a cute girl downstairs and I was kinda hoping to make hay while the sun shines and all that jazz.”

***

An afternoon of solitude and a claw foot bathtub did wonders for Lucy. Was she still mortified? Yes. Was she going to hide away for the rest of the weekend? Of course not. Well not in her room anyway. If she should somehow avoid a very tall Croatian mystery writer by having to duck behind the occasional potted plant? She could live with that.

While she was at it she would avoid Cahill too. The idea of working for him made her skin crawl. She really needed to impress upon Amy that nothing good would come from pushing for an interview with him. Maybe if she told her he had leprosy or something?

Feeling like enough of a coward she’d answered the phone when her mother called but mercifully the cell reception was appalling. They’d managed greetings and static before the disconnect. Carol would no doubt find a way for that to be Lucy’s fault too but she could save the lecture for another time. Right here, right now, Lucy was more concerned about surviving the night without further humiliating herself.

“Woah.” Jiya stood just inside the door, wearing a pant suit that was a tribute to Amy’s necessity to over-pack for everything they ever did. She waved her hands up and down to take in Lucy’s dress. “I mean like, _damn.”_

Lucy smoothed the silky fabric down, trying not to feel self-conscious. The cobalt blue material looked innocent enough with its wide boat neckline studded with beads like falling stars but the back fell away to nothing, skimming the very base of her spine, and the silk clung like a second skin whenever she moved. The moment she’d seen it in the shop window she’d loved it. Even when the price tag had made her knees knock she’d known she had to buy it, would rather not eat for a week than not own it. She’d never thought she’d actually go anywhere to wear it but here she was.

“That outfit really works for you too.” Jiya looked equally amazing, her jewellery and makeup helping her to own the borrowed suit.

The other woman smiled and twirled, playful and pleased. “Rufus was lost for words so I knew it looked good.”

“He’d think you looked good in a garbage bag.”

“I know. It’s disgusting to watch the two of us isn’t it?” She glowed as they moved away from the door, allowing other guests to enter, heading over to where Amy and Jessica were deep in conversation while Rufus stood bemusedly to one side.

“I don’t know how else to explain it.” 

Amy was all but whispering. That couldn’t be good. “Explain what?”

“Baby ghosts.”

All eyes turned on Rufus and Jiya asked, “Say what?” 

“Well, that’s what you’re saying, right?” He looked flustered but determined. They had one hundred percent been talking about it and crazy or not he was only telling it like it was. “The hothouse had no-one else in it when someone or something started drawing on the windows?” Amy and Jessica gave slight nods. Rufus raised his hands in a ‘see, I told you’ shrug. “Baby ghosts.”

“Geez. You make it sound like we saw Casper in diapers.” The look on Amy’s face was pitched for levity but Lucy could see the uncertainty underneath.

“You saw a ghost?” She knew her sister had some out there ideas but this was a little further out than normal.

“Well, not ‘saw’ saw.”

Oh good. Amy hadn’t lost it completely then. “Help me out here.”

“There was something we can’t explain. It was freaky. Don’t worry, I’m going get one of those ghost experts to come on my podcast and explain it to me. The listeners will eat it up.”

“They’re all frauds.” The focus swung to Jiya, who was busy checking out what the rest of the room was up to. When she saw the looks she felt compelled to clarify, “Well they are. Whatever your ‘expert’ claims I’ll come on and give you a scientific explanation for.”

“The lady had a point.” Rufus slung his arm around her shoulder, kissing her brow, “And if she’s coming on _Lesser Gods_ can I come too? I could, you know, back her up.”

Lucy was raising a glass to her lips when a tinkling cut through the bubble of conversation in the room. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Connor’s voice carried over and above any remaining noise. “Last night the chairman of the Cahill Foundation got your undivided attention,” he nodded at Cahill who was seated, Emma’s hand resting on his shoulder, “but tonight, dear people, it’s my turn.”

A curious buzz began around the room. 

He stood on the hearth of the enormous fireplace to give himself a little more height, his teeth glowing white as he spoke. “For your entertainment I’ve prepared a scavenger hunt of sorts. The whole house will be at your disposal, there is a very talented fortune teller somewhere in the building for you to find and the winners, well the winners will get a rather wonderful prize. Full detail to follow.”

More buzz and rising levels of excitement began. 

“To add a little spice to the proceedings I’ve decided the teams of three will be decided at random, by fate if you will. Everyone will pull a number from the box,” he flashed a gilt box that resembled a tiny pirate’s treasure chest, “then once our delicious meal ends you can find the other two people who have the same number and off you go.”

***

The number envelop felt like it was burning a hole through Lucy’s purse. Everyone was under strict instructions not to open the small ivory note they’d chosen until dessert was served but it was obvious from around the room that people were beginning to sneak peeks. 

For her part Lucy was intrigued if hesitant. A scavenger hunt around a house like this? It was practically a dream come true. The only other way she’d get such free reign to explore was if she took Cahill’s job offer. Sheesh. She’d rather be transported back to the War of Independence and help deliver Abigail Adams’ letters to her husband. Actually, that would be really cool, apart from the being a woman in the past and the whole danger of being caught scenario. Still, she’d get to talk to one of the first advocates of black Americans and women’s rights first hand.

“Any idea what Mason’s prize might be?” The man next to her asked just as her eyes drifted over to the other side of the table and the person she was determined to avoid.

It took her a second to blink away the vision of the ridiculously well-fitting shirt and jacket, the lightly tanned throat on display, all that perfectly styled dark hair just begging to be thrown into disarray by her very willing fingers. She swallowed hard. “If his history is anything to go by it’s bound to be something interesting.”

Wyatt looked suitably impressed, his hooded eyes taking on a certain gleam. “Do you reckon the teams are rigged?”

He’d been an interesting dinner companion, chatting about his former career and his home town in Texas easily. While he hadn’t said anything specific, Lucy had picked up from the outset his relationship with her sister’s latest person of interest. “There is a precedent for trying to predetermine random choice teams but if I had to guess I’d say it’s more likely the other players do the rigging. I’m sure some of them are swapping numbers as we speak.”

“You planning on swapping yours?”

“I haven’t opened it yet so I’d be fairly silly to do that don’t you think?”

“I’ve got number 6. I’d rather have 2.”

“As I said.”

“Not opened yet. Got it. But if you should have a two.”

“I’ll think of you first.” She found herself smiling, even beginning to relax a little. It was nice to have an easy conversation without worrying that she was making a total fool of herself.

The hairs on the back of her neck shivered into life as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Using the excuse of being attentive to the woman sat on the other side of her Lucy discretely swept the table to see why, only to catch eyes that were most definitely green right now. Garcia Flynn looked on with a startling intensity, as though he could peel back all the layers to see into the very heart of her. Despite herself she found her back straightening and her face taking on its’ more haughty of masks. Just because she’d been an idiot around him twice now didn’t mean she had to crumple because he was staring at her. 

As everyone began to filter back to the drawing room to officially find their team mates and begin the game Lucy felt a tug on her elbow. Amy’s mischievous face leaned close.

“What number have you got?”

“One. Why?”

“Swap.”

“Amy. The idea was…”

“I know but I need you to swap.”

“Because…”

“Jessica and Cahill are both in one. I think I’d be an excellent team mate for them.”

“About Cahill Ames-“

“I know. Creepy times twelve. Got it. That’s why I thought Jessica might want a buffer.”

“I think it’s Cahill who might need the buffer.”

“From _moi_? I’m offended. Now swap.”

The idea of being on Cahill’s team was not pleasant but still, letting Amy get up in his face might be worse. Just as Lucy opened her mouth to refuse though Amy played her trump card.

“I’ve got four. That’s Rufus and Jiya’s team. They’ll just follow you around and let you explore to your hearts delight while they make eyes at each other.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d be a bored third wheel.” Her eyelashes battered. “Please Lucy? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

A fraught, uncomfortable couple of hours heading towards midnight in an old house while the rain that had hit mid-afternoon rattled the window panes and a guy with snake eyes stuck close to her side or Rufus and Jiya? Hmm. Let her think.

“You beauty!” Amy kissed her on the cheek and shot off, new number in hand, which was lucky for her as Jiya appeared seconds later moaning she had no luck in these things and was on Emma Whitmore’s team.

“Sorry?”

“The hostess from hell and I are not going to mix. I can tell you that for nothing.”

“I thought you were on Rufus’ team?”

“I wish!”

“Then who’s on team four?”

A rangey looking man sidled up. “Someone call my number?” He held out his hand, effecting a smile under his pencil moustache. “Karl Hassenberg. And I believe you’re Lucy Preston.” 

“Umm, yes.” Amy was going to live to regret this stunt, Lucy would make sure of that. “How do you do?”

“Much better knowing that you’re on my team.” The man pursed his lips in an almost kiss-like motion. “You know, you’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be, given that you’re a history writer and all.”

He had to be kidding, right? “Are you a big history fan, Mr Hassenberg?”

“On and off. I like to read a wide variety of stuff.” He gave Jiya’s retreating back a quick once over. “Got to say, I’d have read more of yours if I’d known who was writing it.”

Flash backs to her old office and undergrads who wrote essays without reading source material sprang to mind. “I wasn’t aware I had to be a card carrying member of the elderly cardigan wearing club to write history.”

Karl’s eyes shifted to the side, but he was saved from having to respond when another voice asked, “Am I interrupting?” 

A whole flight of butterflies took off in Lucy’s chest as her stomach swooped downwards. Where was a potted plant when she needed one?

“Lucy and I were just discussing team tactics.” Karl stepped towards Lucy who raised an eyebrow at him.

“Anything I should know about?”

“Secrets for team four only, bud.”

Garcia flashed a card with the number four printed in its centre, a small smile dancing around his lips even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “How fortunate.”

Lucy was swiftly reconsidering her stance on Amy living to see out the end of the evening but before she could do anything to collar the double-crossing ne’er-do-well a piece of paper flashed before her eyes. 

“I took the liberty of obtaining our scavenger list.” Even the man’s wrists were sexy. She was so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to google translate:  
> jebeni - fucking  
> Dragi Boze - Dear God  
> Sranje jebe - shit eating
> 
> If you made it to the end of chapter 3 thanks for hanging in there. I do have a plan - honest. Things are starting to move towards a head. Chapter 4 should resolve some things with any luck.


	4. Saturday night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone sees a ghost. Flynn and Lucy start to talk. Karl has a moment.

The acute awareness didn’t disappear, nor did the embarrassment but the house and its antiquities found a way to, if not lessen either emotion, distract from them. Lucy knew she was goggling but it was as though someone had decided on a love of Georgian glass and collected it exclusively for ten years before changing their minds and starting on a collection of English Minton teapots. There were rooms dedicated to bone-china figurines and grand hallways with so little space on the walls it was hard to tell the Reynolds from the Corot’s. Somewhere between leaving the drawing room and walking through the doors of the butler’s pantry Lucy forgot to keep checking over her shoulder or to be on guard with Flynn and found herself telling him random titbits of information.

“The head butler used to sleep in here.” She offered it absently as she ran her fingers along the underside of one of the many shelves.

Stood facing the other wall of cabinets Flynn moved glasses and china in his own search. “Really?” He sounded interested. How peculiar.

Finally her fingers found the hook she’d been looking for. “The pantry would be used as his office and bedchamber so that he could protect the silverware from thieves.” 

“What? So all those stiff-lipped Jeeves were eunuchs?” Karl wasn’t having a great time. Twice he’d slunk off to find himself another drink and from the way he was starting to slur it would be a surprise if he made it past the next item on the scavenger list, in this case a French Caged corkscrew.

Lucy turned with the tiny key in hand and slotted it into the drawer they’d been trying to open. “Actually the private lives of the servants in English country houses was quite varied and full of the same levels of affairs as those above stairs. Only, they could lose their livelihood for it.” She pulled the drawer open then turned the key back on itself so that a secret second drawer was revealed, thrilled it had worked.

Meanwhile Flynn glared at Karl. Again. The other man’s primary crime was being in the way but he hadn’t exactly endeared himself by trying to draw Lucy into more risqué conversations or by the way he’d nudged Flynn and suggested he ‘wouldn’t kick her out of bed’. When he’d started making ‘blah blah blah’ gestures every time she spoke his time was most assuredly up.

“I can’t believe this was on Connor’s list.” She cradled the corkscrew reverently in one hand, snapping a photo as evidence of having found it with the other. “There was no chance anyone would find it.”

Flynn bent his head so he could be at her eye level. “You did.”

“Well, yes.” She blushed, “But I am a history professor so it would be kind of lame if I didn’t have some ideas where to start looking.”

She did that a lot, shrugging off praise. He couldn’t help but wonder who’d taught her to think less of her abilities, to think everyone as capable if not more so than herself. Perhaps he could help to fix it. “I don’t know many American historians who would also have detailed knowledge of hidden compartments in English-built houses.” 

Her lips quivered upwards ever so slightly. “You knew to look in the Frieze work to find the cupid.” And, she privately admitted to herself, that only made him more attractive to her. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t interested in her.

Flynn had the grace to flush slightly, straightening his collar and clearing his throat before offering, “I did some research on antebellum houses when I was writing _Flames in the Wind_. Something must have stuck.”

“Oh! I loved that one.” The confession slipped out before she could slap her hand over her mouth.

“You did?”

Karl knocked his head on the door frame. “Cheque please.”

Flynn turned sharply as Lucy ducked away, ostensibly to return the corkscrew to its resting place but mostly because the other man had visibly embarrassed her. Garcia’s hawk like features sharpened as he scowled at Karl, who took a fortifying gulp from his glass.

“We about done here?” He asked as he looked over Flynn’s shoulder, hoping for Lucy to referee.

Her cheeks still held a tinge of red as she turned. 

That did it.

Before she could speak Flynn said, “Why don’t you go and see if you can find the fortune teller.” He repressed the urge to get close enough to drop kick Karl out of the room but his voice made it clear it wasn’t a suggestion. 

Looking between Flynn and Lucy, Karl opened his mouth to say something clever then thought better of it. Instead he offered a tipsy salute and a throw away, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, guvnor.”

They both valiantly pretended not to have heard him.

Once he was gone the air was thick. How the hell was Flynn supposed to gain her confidence like this? He should follow Karl and give him a swift jab to the gut for making this so much more difficult that it already was. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she looked like _that_ in her dress. All the creamy skin of her back just _there,_ begging him to touch. And yes, he was sure she wasn’t wearing the dress to impress him, but she looked so bloody beautiful and everything she spoke about brought their surroundings to life, her intelligence just as attractive as her appearance. How on earth was he supposed to focus? There were serious matters that needed discussing. 

He’d given himself a stern talking to about younger women and widowers. He’d reminded himself of her links to Cahill. It hadn’t stopped the way he could still see her when he closed his eyes or the way his temperature rose whenever she got close. Hadn’t stopped the way her words tripped through his head building question upon question he wanted to ask her so that they might spend the night conversing, alone in their own private bubble. He’d been relying on the fact that talking about her great passion – history – had eased the tension from her shoulders. Now she was stiff and defensive again. He couldn’t exactly open his parentage can of worms now could he?

“I’m flattered that you read my book.” It wasn’t the most elegant segue into a personal conversation but he had to say something to break the silence. And he was. Flattered. Secretly pleased. Anxious for what she’d thought. He was in real trouble here.

Lucy felt a bubble of hysterical laughter try to rise. _He_ was glad _she’d_ read his book? How would he react if she told him she’d read it more than once? That she could quote chunks from it? That she could quote from all of his works. Probably best not to mention that. It was nice that he was trying to make this easier though so against her better judgement she admitted, “That scene when Sheridan’s militia are patrolling with orders to use any means necessary to protect the relief warehouses? Clarke and Ada need to sneak in because O’Leary has hidden the evidence inside? It was two a.m. and I had the early class the next day but I couldn’t put it down.”

He didn’t speak, just looked at her, his jaw a little loose. She shouldn’t have said anything. It so much easier to talk to people in her head. There, they reacted the way she expected. He’d say thank you, I like your work too, would you like to go for coffee sometime? How hard could that be?

Maybe Karl had the right idea. Change the room. Change the conversation. Where were the other teams when she needed them?

“You inspired me.” 

It stopped her hasty retreat. She cocked her head to one side, the strands she’d left free from her chignon falling across her shoulder, waiting for an explanation. 

“I read your _Path Building: A short history of women in the Plantation Era_ and was intrigued. Your writing was so vivid I felt as if I’d lived it and I wanted to capture some of that in my story so I went a little crazy with the research.”

He’d read her book? He liked her book?

“I…”

“ _Grouse_.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

A nervous giggle escaped her. “I thought you called me a grouse?”

“ _Her ladyship wants it for dinner_.”

Flynn’s eyebrows shot through his hairline while Lucy pirouetted on the spot, trying to find the source of the sound.

“You heard that, right?” 

“Dinner?” They spoke over each other.

“ _Where she thinks we’ll find the time to do that and churn the butter is beyond me_.” The woman’s voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

A second voice chipped in. “ _We must dare to be great, Mrs Wembley, and greatness is the fruit of toil_.”

“ _Great indeed_.” The woman’s voice faded out at the end and the room was silent again.

“Er, hello?” Lucy called out to no-one in particular, dancing closer to her companion, unsure what to think, thoroughly glad she wasn’t alone.

Flynn looked everywhere obvious but couldn’t find the source of the sound. As far as he could tell there had never been anyone else in the room with them. Even if someone had been speaking. “I think we’re alone.” 

“Any idea what’s going on because I would swear I just heard two people who are not here?”

He looked around again, still drawing a blank, half hoping to spot a concealed speaker, half remembering the woman in blue from the gazebo.

Lucy was just as confused. There was no wall space free to tap to check for hidden stairways and the stone floors showed no signs of scraping if such an entrance was present. So where had the voices come from? First Amy and her hot-house encounter, now this. Much as Lucy wanted to dismiss her sister’s account of the afternoon’s events she’d most certainly heard those two voices with her own ears. Only…

“Did one say her ladyship?”

“Yes. Wanting grouse.”

Something didn’t fit. “Dairymaids churned butter.” It probably sounded random to Flynn but…

“Why would a dairymaid be talking to the butler?”

Exactly. “She wouldn’t. In the hierarchy of the house butlers did not socialise with women lower than the cook other than to scold them. And the dairymaid wouldn’t be complaining to the butler anyway.”

He screwed up his brow. “He hold her to be great. It sounded ... wrong.”

“It’s a quote from a Teddy Roosevelt campaign speech in 1898. Did they sound American to you?”

“Very.”

“So why call the mistress of the house her ladyship? That’s British.”

“The house came from England.”

True but, “It was moved over in 1868. The remnants of the original family wanted to join in the rebuilding after the American Civil War. According to the digital journal I read they quickly adopted all American traditions.” 

He considered for a moment, “You think the voices were staged?”

The room seemed unobtrusive enough. The whole house should be benign. But… She still couldn’t explain the feeling that she was being watched. She had no way to explain that as they’d explored something about the rooms had felt familiar. How did she put into words the feeling she’d had the first time she’d seen the house or her desire to avoid the west tower at all costs? Amy was convinced there were ghosts. It all added up to the idea that those voices had been some otherworldly throwback and yet…

“Yes.” Whatever was going on, she was sure the ghostly duo they’d just encountered were all wrong.

***

The old servant’s quarters in the attic were eerie. They were probably more eerie because Benjamin Cahill was hovering in the background and his eyes has this weird, metallic kind of glow to them in the half light. Of course that could just be the storm picking out different colours in them but after the orangery Amy could do without it. 

She’d tried being nice with him. She was good at nice. Before her dad had – well – her mother had spent lots of time with Lucy and herself making sure they were known as ‘those two nice Preston girls’. Five minutes with Cahill had convinced her that nice wasn’t going to cut it. Five minutes more had convinced her there was no chance she was getting an interview. OK. Didn’t matter. Her other speciality was flexibility. He wanted to be a condescending prick about ‘new fads in journalism’? She could work round that. He didn’t want to be interviewed? Screw him. She’d do a character profile instead. The Tribune wanted an example of her work, and yes they’d said interview but Cahill would still be in the article, just unwillingly. ‘My weekend hell with slime-ball Cahill’ would be just as good as the podcast she’d planned. Maybe better.

“You’re frowning.”

“Am not.” It was a pre-programmed response. She couldn’t help it.

Jess shot her a searching look. “Everything ok? You kinda look like that dwarf, the one who’s always mad.” She thought for a second. “Grumpy.”

Amy had a sudden vision of the sourpuss dwarf with a down turned mouth and folded arms. She quickly dropped her arms to swing loosely at her sides. “Just thinking.”

“Well stop it. I can smell the gears burning out from here.”

The main focus of her thoughts sighed, managing to make it sound as though he was judging her and found her lacking. “This is ridiculous. We’ve wasted enough time.” Cahill sounded like he honestly thought they were both just going to jump to attention. As though he was deserving of nothing less than absolute adulation and obedience. 

Yeah, right.

“We haven’t found the washboard yet.” She’d stay up here for the rest of the weekend just to spite him if she had to.

“Miss Preston,” How did someone make a name sound that distasteful? “There’s no point standing in the eaves of the house hoping a washboard will appear. Mason has no doubt hidden it somewhere absurd. There’s no reason to continue with this farce.” He checked what had to be a ten thousand dollar watch and shook his head. “I’m sure your sister’s being far more level headed. No doubt she’s settled by the fireplace laughing at our folly as we speak.”

Not likely. Lucy would still be salivating at the million and one things Manor Grange held this time next year. Plus she was on team Flynn. If she could pry her eyes off the history there was only one other place they’d be stuck and it sure wasn’t some unlit fire. 

“I heard Connor say the prize involved air travel. No chance I’m leaving the game ‘til I’ve found all the objects ‘cos this girl could sure use a holiday. Preferably somewhere warm.” Jessica announced, hooking her arm through Amy’s. It was becoming their thing. If Cahill would just do one they could work out if they had any other things they could enjoy together.

“I hardly think…”

“Benjamin.” The Whitmore woman’s voice could freeze blood at twenty paces. Did she have to go to class to learn that or was she just naturally bitter?

Cahill looked less than pleased. “Emma.” 

“How much longer do we have to continue with this nonsense?”

Behind her Jiya looked skywards as if in prayer. All credit to her. If Amy had been on Emma’s team they’d have come to blows by now.

Jessica read the room and came to a decision. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Maybe Amy could smack Emma by accident? Just a couple of times?

Jess smoothed her face but her eyes hardened. “I’ll try to remember that. Wouldn’t want my pretty blonde head to fall off because it got weighed down by too many thoughts now would I?” She turned to Jiya and the man trailing behind her, warmth returning to her gaze. “How about we swap? As Mr Cahill and Ms Whitmore here don’t want to play they can bugger off,” she gave them both a doe eyed, syrupy smile, “excuse me, I meant decorously leave and take advantage of the quiet in the drawing room,” she returned her attention to the rest of the attic, “and the four of us can have us some fun without their dead weight dragging us down.”

Emma looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Amy could have kissed Jessica but chose instead to take a snap of the moment on her phone. Kissing would be better when they were in a less loaded atmosphere. 

Cahill blustered, “Now listen here missy-”

“I’ve been listening to your moaning for far too long tonight. I’m happy to say I don’t have to listen to a single solitary word more Mr Cahill so, respectfully, can it.” 

“When I speak to your employer-”

“Oh, he knows.” Jess’s smile was serene. 

Something ugly crossed Cahill’s face. “You have no idea who you are talking to Miss Logan.”

Jessica’s mouth refused to give up. “A tight ass old guy with delusions of grandeur?”

Whatever Cahill had been about to say was cut off when the first girl walked straight through him.

_“I heard her screaming I did.”_

_“You did not!”_

_“Did too. He had her by the hair and was dragging her through the house.”_

The second girl looked around nervously, weighing interest against a telling off. They both wore a grey uniform with a white apron, their hair tucked under white mop hats. All six adults in the room watched in a kind of morbid fascination as the two girls floated several inches off the floor.

_“You don’t think he’d actually hurt her do you?”_

_“No telling what that family will do. Bad blood my ma says.”_

_“Shh. Keep your voice down.”_

Jiya waved her hand back and forth through the closest apparition, the girl dissolving wherever she touched.

_“I will not. He ain’t my master. The missus is looking out for another position for me. I ain’t working for the likes of him again.”_

_“But what about her ladyship?”_

_“She’ll come good. She’s a good un. Those other Keynes though? Something ain’t right there. Any child of his is bound to be mad.”_

The girls continued to walk through the room, exiting through a wall.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say what the hell?” Amy was working hard to understand what her eyes and ears were telling her. There were two… All floaty with no feet. Strange accents. Walked right through a very pale looking Cahill then a wall.

Jiya continued to look around, moving her hands through the now empty air, feeling the wall they’d disappeared through, a frown on her face, obviously deep in thought.

“Did it feel cold?” Amy didn’t know if it was just curiosity or a slight bit of spite on her part that made her ask. “When she walked through you. I read ghosts turn everything cold.” Might be hard with him though, what with him having all the joy of a cold, dead toad.

Cahill either wasn’t listening or didn’t want to answer. Something else had got his goat, causing him to breathe deep. Emma slid up to him and placed her hand over his shoulder, whispering whatever it took to calm him down. Amy sure hoped she was getting a decent recompense out of having to touch Cahill all the time because she sure wouldn’t be doing it willingly.

“They knew the name.” He was muttering with increasing volume.

Whatever Emma had to say didn’t pacify him.

“How could they know?” He looked suspiciously at the rest of the room’s occupants before turning back to Emma and muttering, “What else do they know?”

Emma had her lips virtually pressed to his ear. It made Amy feel queasy just thinking about it. 

“I don’t care! If someone else-” Cahill suddenly started choking, his hand grasping at his throat as his mouth moved soundlessly to form words he couldn’t utter. His face was distorting in a worrying way, everything about it unnatural. Emma moved in front of him, her own face close to his.

“Is he ok?” Jessica asked.

Emma turned just long enough to snarl. “Get out!”

***

A thorough search of the butler’s pantry had turned up nothing but the longer they searched the more convinced Lucy became the voices had been a recording. American servants. British words. Presidential quotes. Mixed time frames. Something was certainly fishy.

Together they agreed to move on, if only to see what else might be amiss in their game. Six items down the list and nothing else strange had happened if you discounted the odd occasional howl of the wind outside or the increasingly frequent rumbles of thunder. Could the voices have been another forgotten prop from Connor’s recent Halloween party?

So far they hadn’t run into any of the other teams which either meant they were doing really well and ahead of the curve or the rest were finished already. A quick check of the grandfather clock they saw in the corridor showed it to be nearing eleven. Would the others have given up yet?

“May I ask a personal question?” It was the first time Flynn had spoken to her in a while. They’d both drifted off into their own thoughts while they searched the music room. They’d turned up four styles of harp but no harpsichord. It wasn’t exactly an easy object to hide now was it?

Lucy’s heart did its funny little skipping thing at the sound. “As long as I can reserve the right not to answer.” 

He gave a small smile and nod. “Why did you accept the invitation?”

Would it be too much to ask for him to want to know if she was single instead? 

“Amy.” It was the answer to most ‘why have you done this ridiculous thing’ questions. She gave a half smile and a shrug, her dimples showing, wondering if there was a painting of a harpsichord to be found rather than an actual instrument. “If I’m honest I was dead set against it but she wanted to come and things haven’t exactly been great at home for a while. I figured it was only a couple of nights.”

The way Flynn looked at her made her think again that he could see to her core. She couldn’t place why it made her squirm inside, only knew that for the first time she felt as if someone was actually looking at her, not through her or at what she could do for them but at her. It was the damndest sensation.

“She said you’d left your teaching position?” There was no censure or astonishment, just curiosity.

Her mother’s face flashed before her and the squirm tried to turn into guilt but she squashed it to the back of her mind. She’d tell Carol. In her own time. When she had a new job and she was on the way out the door so there could be no comeback. “Stanford wasn’t that great a fit for me. I mean, my mom helped found the history department but I just never quite gelled there.”

He was quiet a couple of beats longer as he read the spines of the music books collected near the window, silhouetted by the latest lightening flash. “That’s a brave stand to take. Your mother must be very proud of you.”

Lucy couldn’t help but scoff. “Hardly. I was barely making the grade on my mom’s list of life goals before I quit. When I tell her she’s going to hit the roof.” She thought that through. “Actually, she won’t. Hit the roof that is. She’ll just talk at me and explain why I’m wrong for hours on end.” And Lucy would feel like she was twelve again with an A- on her report card.

“Sounds tough.”

“She didn’t used to be so bad. She always had high standards but when we lost my dad…” She trailed off, aware she was oversharing again. Any minute now team four would have exactly one member left. Out of habit she twisted the bracelet at her wrist, feeling her father’s presence through his gift to her.

A sad smile lifted his lips. “It changed her?” Something he would know from personal experience.

Could she ask about his wife? Was that seriously overstepping? It might be safer to just answer his question. “They lived for each other.” Lucy could still see her parents dancing in the kitchen when they thought she and Amy were asleep, could still see her father watching her mother move around the room as though his eyes just had to follow wherever she led. “When he died it was like she died too except she forgot to take her body with her. These days she’s unrecognisable. Everything is about status and heritage. Even her choice of friends has changed.” She thought back to the library that morning. “Benjamin Cahill told me that he was acquainted with her today. Never in a million years would I have guessed they knew each other. My dad would have hated him.” 

He levelled her with a look. As their eyes stayed tangled she had the thought he was trying to work out if what she was telling the truth. Surely he didn’t think she was trying to ingratiate herself in some way? She lowered her eyes, not sure why she felt hurt.

To cover she busied herself with the search again but soon gave up. After another cursory glance an idea occurred to her. “I don’t suppose you want to look in the nursery for the harpsichord? If we can’t find a real one maybe there’s a toy one in a dolls house?”

The way Flynn’s eyes cleared and the genuine smile that split his face went some way to sooth the ache. 

He swept his hand towards the door, his voice low. “Lead on.”

The central staircase was empty of people too. The chandelier sparkled in a thousand different directions casting rainbow shards of light every which way and while Lucy appreciated it she couldn’t help but look to the pillars running through to the double level ceiling. She could almost feel the carved marble beneath her fingers as she waited, listened.

“Ok?”

Flynn was two stairs up, reaching back for her. The cuffs of his shirt gleamed against his darker skin, a sharp contrast between flesh and the black suit jacket he wore. She had the oddest idea she should have a candle holder in her hand as she reached up to allow her fingers to be enfolded in his.

_“My husband was a good man.”_

_He looked down his hawk-like nose at her, his height elevated by his position on the stairs but she held her ground. His eyes raked over her before he stiffly nodded. “I was sorry to hear of his passing.”_

_They’d had little in common - he a man heading towards dotage and she a woman with a mind of her own - but they had been amiable enough. And they had Ethan._

_“In my country it is customary for mourning to last through years end.” He still wore black although his wife was long gone from this world._

_“As it is here.”_

_He arched a brow and deliberately appraised her gown. “And yet you wear blue, madam.”_

_She was ashamed of it but it couldn’t be helped. “My brother does not favour black on a woman. He feels it makes her too severe and ages her ill.”_

_Looking around the great hall he noted the changes from when last he visited, the new extravagance, the differing portraits. He took the time to consider the pale but beautiful creature before him. “Your brother has modified much.”_

_Her eyes skittered around. Was that fear? “Time does not wait for us sir. We must learn to adjust with it.”_

_Her composure was admirable, her elegance ingrained. It was not his place but he reached forward to offer his arm so that she might climb the stairs with more confidence._

“Jesus!” Karl almost barrelled into them in his haste to descend the stairs. “Thank fuck I found you.”

***

“The subwoofer above 100hz?”

“Normally no, but if you think the frequency might be difficult to capture one with a better level of resonance would be best. I could do the adjustments if you wanted?”

When he’d found out he was on Bruhl’s team Rufus hadn’t known how to feel. While the scientist hadn’t known he’d been overheard with Cahill Rufus couldn’t just erase the conversation from his mind. However the older guy had been nothing but solicitous and almost eager to talk shop from the moment they’d left the others. Wyatt was a silent third party. Rufus had felt kind of bad at first but then the technical talk had ramped up and now he was completely lost.

“You’ve got a company that specialises in unique equipment I think you said?”

“Yeah, something like that. My partner and I work in development, code and tailoring pre-existing equipment to more unique uses.”

“And you used to work with Mason?”

 _Warning, danger Will Robinson._ “I worked for him for a while. Jiya and I are a better fit for each other though and Connor decided he wanted to take step back from the tech sector.”

Bruhl considered that for a minute, lowering his voice slightly. “Has he really let go of the reigns do you think?”

Before Rufus could answer he caught a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to find Wyatt.

“You think this could be the bell we’re looking for?” The solider asked, shaking a small hand bell that clanked alarmingly, closer than he’d been before.

“Um, no?” Fishing in his pocket Rufus consulted the list, hoping Jiya was having better luck finding this stuff than he was. At this rate his team were going to be bottom of the board. “It says ‘Victorian servant’s bell’. I doubt that was made of pottery. Weren’t those things hung up on the walls in the kitchens or something?” Why hadn’t he paid attention when his mom was watching all those imported period dramas – oh yeah ‘cos they sucked.

“Right.” Wyatt took a step back. “Shouldn’t we head that way then?”

Rufus looked around, surprised to find they were in the doorway to the darkened breakfast room from that morning. No bell, just plenty of shadowy paintings thrown into relief by the flashes from outside. He adjusted his jacket so it fit closer. When he and Jiya bought a house they were decorating with landscapes and buildings, no relatives allowed on the walls.

“Sure.” He turned back the way they’d come when someone shot through the doorway and across to the sideboard, clinking crystal and glugging liquid into a glass.

Lucy and Flynn followed at a brisk pace.

“What the..?” Neither one was looking at him, just trying to catch up to Karl.

“If you could at least explain?”

Karl downed whatever he’d poured and filled his glass back up again, his wild eyes looking everywhere and nowhere before settling on Rufus’ team. “You seen her?”

“Her who?” Rufus looked over at Lucy and Flynn who both shook their heads. 

“There I was minding my own business, just left the gypsy with the crystal ball when this freaking _freak_ rises through the floor. Honest to god, just straight up through the carpet. She takes one look at me and all the skin peels off her face.” He drank deeply again. “I mean, all the skin!”

O-kay. That was not what Rufus had been expecting but, “How many of those have you had?” was Flynn’s first response.

“Because I man can’t see something when he hasn’t had a skin full?” It was Wyatt who answered, anger edging his words. 

Karl chose to take another drink.

“He’s been drinking steadily all night. I see no harm in asking if the alcohol might have impaired his judgement.” 

O-kay. There was obviously something else going on there. First the dirty looks last night and now the face off – urgh, bad choice of words. But right now the bigger problem was the alcoholic coma Karl was trying to induce.

“Maybe we should take a breath? Sit down?” Rufus helpfully pulled out a chair, hoping against hope someone would back him up. 

Thankfully Lucy flicked on the lights before she folded herself into a seat then Anthony followed suit.

“Are you sure Karl?” Lucy’s voice didn’t sound as confident as it usually did but at least she was drawing the focus away from a confrontation.

Karl’s hand shook.

“Places like this have a way of playing tricks on your mind.” The way she said it spoke of personal experience.

“Her face. Peeled. Off. I shit you not.”

“Who’s shitting who?” It was Jiya. A warm rush of relief flowed through Rufus who jumped up to hug her close, taking in the change in team members around her but feeling he should explain before he asked about it.

“Karl thinks he saw a ghost.” For the second time that night he was mentioning beings from beyond the grave. Huh. His life was really odd these days. 

“Join the club.” Amy walked over to Karl, grabbed two glasses and poured from the decanter, raising one in a toast. “Two maid’s just walked through Cahill in the attic.”

“You’re kidding.” He looked between her and Jiya whose whole expression was one of consternation.

“I swear. Straight through him. Not even a by your leave.”

When Connor had suggested a scavenger hunt Rufus hadn’t guessed ghosts would be on the list but hey, it took all kinds. 

“I think we should all just try and calm down.” Flynn stepped forwards, his hand resting on the back of Lucy’s chair. Rufus could be wrong but the tall man didn’t look entirely composed himself.

“Who died and made you king?” Yup, Wyatt had issues.

“Oh, put a sock in it Wyatt!” That Jessica wasn’t interested in.

“You always take his side.” In a whine.

Thunder boomed around them, effectively silencing everyone and allowing them all to do as Rufus had tried to suggest. Breathe. 

Lucy chose to speak first. Her voice was very careful. “It’s late. We’re all visiting a house that would make an amazing backdrop for a Hitchcock classic. Most of us have had at least one drink. I think maybe we’re buying into the ghost story idea a bit too much, don’t you?”

“She rose up through the carpet!”

“Jiya put her hand through one!”

“Walked through a wall!” At least three voices sounded at the same time.

“There has to be a reasonable explanation.” Flynn seconded Lucy, his knuckles white on the chair.

“A freaking haunted house! That’s reasonable.”

Jiya was still frowning. “I’m not so sure...”

“What? You didn’t see whatever in the attic?”

Jiya’s frown turned from doubt to anger as she riled up at Karl’s tone. “I saw, I just mean-”

_“And the fires are to be lit before the family is awake.”_

The room froze in place as a matronly woman with a stiff collar ushered a young girl through the table.

_“Mr Keynes is most particular about the rooms being warm though lord knows how he thinks we’ll find the wood for them all to be lit.”_

The girl stopped half way through the table, her top half hovering just about the polished wooden surface.

_“Yes ma’am. Should I-”_

There was an almighty flash of lightening right outside the large bay window, closely followed by a deafening crash of thunder. All the lights went off.

The ghosts disappeared and the room fell into chaos as people screamed and crashed about. It took maybe thirty seconds before a backup generator kicked in and the light clicked back on to reveal the carnage, the two ghostly figures in the middle of the table bending and distorting the way old tapes in a tape deck used to.

Jiya’s face paled as she realised exactly what was going on. Rufus grasped her hand hard as he came to the same conclusion.

Flynn clicked his tongue on the top of his mouth, colour staining his cheekbones while Lucy’s eyes narrowed. They exchanged a look Rufus didn’t quite understand before Flynn spoke.

“Where the hell is Mason and what the devil does he think he’s up to?”


	5. Sunday - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad feelings arise over the night before. Dreams still abound and something is searching for Rittenhouse.

The invasion of Connor’s private study was not subtle. Nor was it unexpected.

He’d been enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation, the peaty undertones of his hundred year old Scotch rising to intertwine with Bach’s Fugue in D minor playing on the gramophone. He could have played it on a much cleaner sound system but, he felt, it maintained its authenticity better with the slight scratch of vinyl. Then the power went out and the mood was destroyed.

Having installed the generator himself he knew it would take seconds to kick in but by then the damage would be done. So he sat and waited, savouring the sting at the back of his throat until the door flew open.

The real surprise had been the ten angry faces that burst in, not one of them who he’d been expecting.

“What the fuck-”

“Do you have any idea-”

“What were you thinking?”

“Of all the outrageous-”

“Just who the hell do you think-”

He let the voices wash over him, silently conducting the orchestra of sound, pitch, speed, tone until it faded out. At some point he must have closed his eyes because a rather rude shove to his shoulder had him snapping to attention, a slim man with a pencil moustache channelling Errol Flynn loomed over him. (The actual Flynn in the room stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed, eyes seething and, oh dear, that wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.)

“I’m going to beat the _crap_ out of you.” The blond writer – was his specialism something to do with true crimes? Connor couldn’t quite remember – was drawing back his fist rather rapidly so he reluctantly moved, narrowly avoiding the clumsy swing through the air.

“If you would take just one moment-”

The man swung again, doing a half turn as the momentum carried him, tripping over his feet and landing inelegantly in a pile on Connor’s recently vacated chair. Did he know how difficult it was to get those seats into just the right contours for their owner’s posterior? Although given the mans ragged breaths and darkened face asking at a later date would no doubt be for the best.

“Ghosts Connor! You set up a house full of ghosts!” It was Rufus and, bless him, he couldn’t quite decide if he was angry or upset by the sounds of it. Connor did feel a twinge of regret for having to involve him but, as was so often the case, needs must. 

He opened his mouth to say something to that effect when the sting of Jiya’s palm swept across the flat of his cheek. Where Rufus was warring with emotion she had no such issues. 

The slap of sound did momentarily cause the others to quiet, but that changed quickly as they saw the appeal of violence. If he wanted to be able to talk in the morning he had better say something worthwhile now.

Fortunately or unfortunately Jiya got there first. “Do you know the damage you’ve done? Do you even care?” Her desire to eviscerate him was highly apparent. “When this gets out we’re ruined and for what? Some stupid prank? A nasty little personal joke that you just had to involve everyone else in? Being pissed at someone is not enough reason to hurt others Connor! I thought at least you might be human enough to understand that.”

A tell-tale sparkle made her eyes shine as she spun away into Rufus’ waiting arms. The young man looked over her head and it was there in his eyes too. The disbelief, the shame, the disappointment. Oh. That hadn’t been part of the plan. It was just meant to –

“You’re saying this was some sick joke?” Jessica’s former husband fumed. “Things walking through tables and scaring the bejesus out of us? This was supposed to be funny?” He looked over at the aggravated blond with the German sounding last name and pointed. “He saw a woman who lost her face. You should have seen the state of him. You can still see the state of him. You think a man drinks like that when he’s not scared out of his god damned mind?”

Blast. He’d rather hoped Cahill would run into old Bessy first. It should have been on his route given the list his team had. Que sera. 

“How did you do it?” Amy Preston asked, half annoyed, half inquisitive. “Was it cameras and motion sensors or ..?”

Carefully avoiding being within touching distance of anyone Connor navigated his way to the decanter set ready and poured out a generous finger of amber nectar, sipping carefully before answering. “There were many elements involved. It’s all rather ingenious really.” He really was quite proud of himself. “First I needed a …”

“Who the hell cares?” Jessica cut through him and to the point. “ _Why_ did you do it? Because we’re here to tell you it seriously was not funny.”

When he explained they would doubtless begin to see the more humorous side of the evening. The only real issue was how much, exactly, to reveal. 

“You are aware that the Cahill Foundation are to take over the house within the week?” A couple of nods but nothing that said they were happy with his opening gambit. “They have some rather … ambitious … plans for the house.” Nefarious was a more suitable word but they didn’t need to know that. Best to be as non-specific as possible given the circumstances. “When my grandfather was entailed with the estate he agreed to keep it in its former glory so for me to sign it away to an organisation that plans –”

“The house? You tried to give me a heart attack because of a house?” The Hassenburg man had found his voice again.

“Not just the house.” As if he would ever be so narrow minded. “You might not be aware, but several years ago the Foundation saw fit to use their influence to ensure my former business was, shall we say, undermined and that I went from being a CEO to a caretaker almost overnight.” When he said it aloud like that it did sound a little petty. Clarification was perhaps required. “I concluded that a haunted house might be enough to dissipate their desire to evict and demolish.” Which would afford him time to resume his search. There were only so much square footage in the house and with all the obvious spaces already covered that didn’t leave much. He would find it first. Because when he did…

“Spite?” Rufus’ voice was outraged. “They hurt you so you haunt them?”

“It was rather more than –”

“You are unbelievable.” There was genuine hurt in his voice. “All these years I’ve looked up to you, aspired to be like and you, and when it comes down to it this is about you having your nose put out of joint.” He released Jiya and stepped up so that they were toe to toe. “I said I didn’t want any part of this but you played on our friendship. It was our tech you messed with wasn’t it? Jiya thought something was up but I told her,” he took a deep breath, “I _promised_ her that you wouldn’t do anything bad with it.” He looked back at his partner and mouthed what looked like an apology then turned back, “What about all the other stuff? The video recording equipment and thermal imaging? Are they some stunt we haven’t come across yet?”

“My dear boy…”

The disappointment shone out of Rufus, all traces of his former almost reverence gone. “Give it a rest. If you’ve booby trapped another room we deserve to know. Now.”

“Do you really think..?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.” His shoulders dropped. “You’re not the man I thought you were.” Quietly he took Jiya’s hand and they left the room.

“Rufus!” But the pair didn’t turn.

Mr Bruhl looked at him as though he’d sprung two heads while a man he couldn’t remember seeing followed Rufus from the room. Hassenberg threw in some more choice expletives before deciding to vacate the area which left five.

Jessica and Amy were stood with their heads close together obviously coming to their own conclusions. Mr Logan seemed strangely removed as though, with his anger vented, he was happy to observe from this point forwards which left…

“Ah, Mr Flynn.” For a man of his size he moved with surprising stealth. “I had rather hoped…”

He didn’t quite lift him by the material of his shirt but the intention was clear. “How?”

“As I was trying to explain-” Suddenly it did seem like a rather foolish idea to ‘haunt’ several rooms rather than just the one or two necessary for the deception.

“Did you record us? Were there actors? How did you get the voices so accurate?” Lucy was beside Flynn, her hand on his arm, whether as a deterrent or an incitement Connor wouldn’t like to say.

“I hired actors for the scenes.” It was rather hard to breathe when his toes were scrambling for purchase on the floor. As new experiences went this was not one of his more pleasant.

Flynn and Lucy shared a look, obviously not satisfied. “Why us though? The other scenes were strangers.”

“My dear,” His feet scrambled a little faster as Flynn’s arm flexed and he felt himself leave the floor, “Dr Preston.” There was a distinct chance he might choke. This was very much not the way the evening was intended to go.

“Neither of us appreciate being used as props for your game.” Up close there was a decided edge to Flynn’s face, a cruelness that had thus far remained dormant.

“I have no … idea … what…” Connor was beginning to gasp.

Lucy looked at Flynn, eyebrows raised and mouth set, their gazes communicating in a way Connor couldn’t understand but the grip on his shirt lessened and he managed to put the balls of his feet back on the floor so whatever they weren’t saying he really ought to be grateful.

“Thank you.” He straightened his jacket. “As I was saying, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I arranged five ghostly scenes in the house. The meal discussion off the kitchen, the attic, the breakfast room, the woman in the hallway and the screams in the tower. None of the actors bare any resemblance to anyone in the household.”

“The staircase.” Flynn’s hand gripped his shirt again. “What about the pair on the staircase?”

Connor ran a quick mental checklist and came to the same conclusion. “There were no scenes staged in the great hall or on any of the stairs. The sensors and optics required a smaller space with less footfall to be effective.”

Flynn’s mouth twisted in a less than pleasant way as he began to lift Connor again. 

Lucy’s frown grew as she worked through what he was saying, disinclined to believe him. As Flynn once again lifted Connor she enunciated clearly, “We were at the bottom of the stairs when the lighting changed and Mr Flynn and I both clearly saw,” she swallowed as if that wasn’t quite the words she meant, “a man and a woman who were almost identical to us is appearance apart from their clothes. They had a conversation about a brother and his control of the house.” While Flynn was the obvious enforcer looking into the whites of Lucy’s eyes made Connor wonder if he shouldn’t be more concerned by her. This was not a lady to be trifled with. “What did you do?”

Before he could answer Amy threw her oar into the conversation. “And how did you get the handprints on the windows?” She flanked her sister, Jessica close on her heels. “I get how you used the recordings but how did you wipe the condensation away? We checked everywhere but there was no one else in the hot-house.”

Connor looked between the four then over to Wyatt who was indolently leaning against a bookcase, arms crossed, almost feigning sleep. “You must be mistaken. There was no-one in the orangery.”

Amy pressed her nose up to his. “This morning. A child screeching about his Mama.”

Connor shook out a denial. “The scenes were only for this evening. The wiring wasn’t completed until mid-afternoon. You can check with Rufus and Jiya.” He turned back to his most immediate problem, more curious now than afraid. “They talked about a brother? Did they give him a name?”

Flynn’s sneer turned feral. “Don’t try to spin this. Did you put something in the drinks? A hallucinogen? Is that why we thought they resembled Dr Preston and myself?”

Connor accepted there was a minor chance he may have overstepped the acceptable social mores with his tomfoolery but hallucinogenics? Surely they couldn’t think he..? “No. No. Nothing like that. I deliberately altered the order of the scavenger list so that different teams would confront the ghosts at different times but other than that and the five scenes I have no idea what is going on.” 

***

_The rain beat down but she rode on. It was reckless no doubt, but thoughts of remaining indoors were intolerable. They had never been close siblings but for him to act in such a manner! Her indignation was absolute. The burning need to slip her restraints if only for a short while her driving force._

_The weight of her dress grew as the rain seeped further into the cloth, moving quickly from an annoyance to a bone deep chill. She weighed foolishness against a heavy cold and sense won out. Brin was none too happy at having his gallop curbed but the need to find shelter was pressing. Pushing wet bangs from her face she scanned the countryside, trying to see through the sheets of rain to find a landmark so that she might best choose a direction._

_The cropper’s cottage was close, empty now that Nicholas had refused them terms on which they might live. At least the roof was solid. She’d signed off on it not six months gone, before her role had changed. Before she had been reduced to fleeing her own home._

_Inside was cold and dark although the makings of the fire sat ready in the hearth. She offered a silent prayer of thanks to the former residents before lighting it and shedding her outer clothing, stretching them over the line she rigged from each corner of the room. Satisfied the garments provided enough of a screen for her modesty she set to trying to unlace her stays. Her fingers were clumsy, too numb for the task but she persevered. No amount of heat from the fire would help her if she didn’t remove the sodden garments and at least attempt to dry them._

_The sharp rap on the wooden door stilled her. The rooms only light came from the fire and would be mostly concealed from the outside by her clothing screen but still, a visitor in a storm?_

_The opening of the door and the sudden rush of cold caused more alarm. True, she was hidden behind a wall of fabric but even so, a lady should not been seen in such a state._

_“Hello?” His voice was rough and weary. “Who’s there?”_

_“Sir?” Surely he was abroad now, once more free to travel for his business. Not six days previous he and his partner had ridden off at first light taking with them the only joy the Manor had seen in many moons._

_Footsteps approached her curtain. “Madam?”_

_“Do not come any closer!” Her heart raced. It was unseemly beyond words that they should be in such close quarters, that she should be so disrobed even if her undergarments still covered her but…_

_His voice was an apology. “I was caught in the storm. The cottage was the only refuge I could find.”_

_Only the length of her cloak separated them. His height would allow him to see over the top if he so chose. A strange tingling arose at the thought._

_“I too was caught in the rain.” She should stop now but, “I thought to dry myself by the fire lest I catch a chill.”_

_She could hear the smile in his voice. “Great minds, my lady, do think alike.”_

_Though the light was poor she could make out his shape in the shadows, the sweep of his hand as it moved his wet hair from his face. The notion that had over taken her when last they had met appeared again, that he was the most handsome of men, that his company filled her with … something … that she could not define. With him she knew the new sensation of watching the door for a gentleman’s arrival, of feeling the lift in her heart when he appeared, the wonder of his voice music to her ears._

_“My fingers will not co-operate.” There was a delicious wickedness in saying it, in the implication her statement allowed._

_He cleared his throat, shifted from foot to foot, sucked in a deep breath. “My lady…”_

_“Would you help me?”_

_When had she become so bold? So brazen? Was it the fear that had been her companion these past days that she would not lay eyes upon him again, the melancholy of loneliness when he was from her sight that spurred her on?_

_His hands hesitated on the line, poised but inactive._

_“I feel the cold acutely, sir.” It was true but not why she spoke. She wanted him to cross the barrier, wanted him to cross more than that. How had she lived this long and never felt this need for another before?_

_Was it possible he could feel even a fraction of what she did?_

_In a rough movement he parted the cloth, stepped through and reset it. His eyes blazed a path over her body, a caress in itself. His tongue snaked out to lick at his upper lip as he forced his eyes away. “How,” his voice was guttural, accent acute, “How may I assist?”_

_What she truly desired could not be voiced, most all of her bravery used up to get to this moment. Instead she turned her back to him, lifted the weight of her still wet hair from her shoulder to reveal the fastenings that refused to cooperate. There was a second that stretched far into eternity before she felt his fingers at her waist, the clumsy pull of digits unaccustomed to such a task._

_Slowly, achingly, he moved each thread allowing her greater room to breathe, to move until the garment could be dropped to the floor. Every tug sped up her pulse, causing a flush to cover her flesh, a heat to well inside of her. His own breath blew tantalisingly across the bare skin of her shoulder, the warmth of his body still a force despite his wet attire._

_Had she ever felt so close to a man? She was a mother, had fulfilled the duties of a wife, but never had she known this ache to build deep inside. She wanted and wanted and wanted._

_“Please.” He whispered it like a prayer, that of a drowning man who stood no hope of salvation._

_Turning within his arms she looked up into his soul, for truly the power of it was written in the depths of his eyes, and though she knew it to be wrong lifted her arms so that she might place her hands on his shoulders, might lift herself enough that his head could descend and his lips might meet hers._

_The urgency with which their mouths fused bewildered her. The need to touch everywhere that she could reach, to be touched everywhere, overwhelming. She was unsure if the world had begun to spin off its axis or was finally righting itself. Whatever it was there was nothing but the moment, this moment stretching out to forever and moving with a speed that made her giddy._

_Fingers that had failed to unfasten her own clothes eagerly sought to rid him of his wet garments, thrilled at the feel of smooth skin they revealed, stuttering over raised ridges that must surely be scars._

_He pulled back, halting her hands, breathing heavily, “I have seen war.” He apologised beginning to retreat._

_“I don’t care.” She would care later, when she might mourn the suffering he had borne but at that moment the greater impulse was to hold him close, to let her fingers skim those marks, let her mouth sooth the past and hasten the future._

_Hope sprang in his eyes which darkened to black, the flames from the fire lighting them from within. Slowly, giving her time to change her mind, he lowered his head once more and fitted his lips to hers, moaning into her mouth as their tongues duelled. His hands resumed their own exploration, raising heat wherever they touched, skimming and moulding until she arched against him involuntarily._

_“Lucy…”_

With sheets tangled about her limbs Lucy bit off a groan of frustration. For the first time in forever her dream lingered clearly; horses and rain, fire and passion, and Garcia bloody Flynn.

***

Breakfast was not the pretty, relaxed affair of the previous morning. Groups of disgruntled authors clumped together, fully packed and ready to leave. 

The universe, it seemed, had other ideas.

“A tree?”

“A very big tree.”

“Can’t be that big.”

“Big enough break the banks of the local river and flood the road. It took down a power line too. The road’s impassable.”

“Surely in a couple of hours..?”

“There’s live power lines and water. We’ll be lucky if it’s cleared for tomorrow.”

“You mean we have to stay?”

“Mason’s hiding somewhere.”

“He wouldn’t dare show his face.”

It offered little comfort, because like it or not, they were stuck until the road was cleared. 

Around a large table five of the faces from the showdown with Connor were intermittently keeping their own council. Amy and Jessica sat close together talking in hushed tones until they remembered to try to keep up conversations around the table. From the way their hands kept brushing or their shoulders kept rubbing Lucy doubted even the bad taste debacle of the night before had dimmed their growing attraction.

Jiya and Rufus were quieter. At first they’d hung back, as though unsure of their welcome and now they ate in virtual silence, speaking only when spoken to and offering apologies with every other sentence. From what Lucy could fathom the technology Connor had used had been a bastardised prototype of theirs which as far as they were concerned was now useless. After all, who would want to invest in anything that could be twisted so easily and that no-one at the house would do anything other than badmouth? Their greatest concern was Cahill and his Foundation. One word from him and not only was their prototype sunk so was their company.

Of Cahill no-one could account. Lucy assumed he was still tearing into Connor, or stood over him with a shotgun insisting he sign the house over then and there. Emma probably had that role. Cahill didn’t seem the type to do his own dirty work.

As for herself, Lucy just wanted to make it through the morning without incident. Every lull in the conversation allowed images from the night before to creep back into her mind. Made up ghosts. Made up ghosts that looked like her. That looked like him. Flynn – other Flynn? Doppelganger Flynn? – on the stairs holding out those elegant fingers to her. Flynn in a darkened cottage, dress-coat puddled at his feet, waistcoat unbuttoned, shirt half pulled from his chest while she-

“Um, Lucy?” Amy was looking at her funny. “Are you ok? You’re looking a bit flushed.”

She had to find a way to turn this off before she did something cataclysmically dumb. “I’m fine.” She fanned herself with her fingers. “It’s warmer in here than I thought.” It had absolutely nothing to do with the memory (dream???) of the way his hands had felt on her, the way his mouth…

An arm bumped hers and her sister filled her vision. “What’s up?” She said it close by, made sure the others were talking and not listening in.

Nope. Not going there. “Amy, I’m fine. Really.”

“You spaced out there Sis. And you are many things but a space cadet isn’t one of them. What gives?”

The others were speaking again, Jiya’s voice trembling with a fine rage, Jessica sympathising, Rufus part anger part defeat. 

Visions of fires and flesh began to dance again. There had to be a way of getting them out of her head. It was almost better when she hadn’t remembered her dreams. At least that way she’d just felt tired and uneasy, now she was flushed and turned on and distracted and…

“I had another dream.” This was a bad idea.

“Another nightmare? It’s got to be Mom. Just tell her you’ve left Stanford and I’m sure they’ll disappear.”

“It’s not Mom.”

“How can you be so certain? The subconscious works in weird ways. I was reading-”

“There was a cottage and a storm. I was trying to dry my clothes and then Flynn was there. I couldn’t undo my corset so he helped and then we were…” She trailed off. 

Amy’s eyes bugged out. “You were having a sex dream about Garcia Flynn?! Woo hoo! Was it good? I need details.”

“Shh!” Lucy double checked everyone was still occupied before hissing, “I did not have an erotic dream about Garcia Flynn!”

The way Amy got super still made Lucy’s stomach drop to her shoes. She closed her eyes and prayed for a quick death. “He’s right behind me isn’t he?”

Amy drew her lips back into her mouth to form a sealed line and gave a couple of quick nods, standing and returning to her seat faster than she had moved since her mother caught her surfing porn on the home computer.

“Anything good?”

Breathe Lucy. Just breathe. “Mr Flynn!” She pasted a smile on her lips and fixed a look on his left ear.

He wrinkled his nose which was either deeply attractive or irrationally annoying. Maybe both. “Oh, I think we’re well beyond formalities Lucy, don’t you.” 

The way he said her name was positively indecent, the ‘u’ elongated and exotic. Warmth pooled where it absolutely had no right to.

“Um, yes, well…”

“You aren’t going to say it?”

“Say what?”

He waggled his eyebrows, the devil in his eyes. Surely he didn’t expect her to confess to the dream?

“Garcia.” He said it innocently enough but he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. The beast.

“I…”

“We’re going to hole up in the morning room.” Jiya saved unknowingly. “Rufus and I need space to check the blueprints and mark where all our stuff is. Don’t suppose either of you would be interested in helping us get it back?”

“Yes.” Lucy sounded desperate even to her own ears.

***

The dust tickled his nose. The rope bit into his wrists. The gag silenced his screams.

He had been stupid. He must be punished. 

This could not fail.

Too long without substance. Too many years of purgatory. Eons of anger that must find a course.

Three hundred years exactly. 

They were already trying to talk to the others. Trying to show the way. It wouldn’t be long before they saw what was real. What had been. What would be again.

This time it would be different. This time she would talk before she died.

Rittenhouse would do what it was made for.

Tonight.

***

“I figured it wouldn’t be so kitsch.” 

While Rufus and Jiya poured over the schematics and annotated accordingly Jessica and Amy decided on a closer inspection of the new room.

“I don’t know. Maybe Daffy Duck was an in thing at the turn of the century.”

Rufus looked over, gloom coating his face instead of its usual up beat take. “It’s Connor’s.” He pointed at the corner, the letters half obscured by the frame. An autograph signed over to Connor at some point in the past. “He’s a big fan.”

It hurt to see him so dejected. Lucy tried to find some grain of comfort. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“That’s the problem though isn’t it? He never means it but always does.” Rufus marked at the drawing viciously. “At Mason Industries we were theorising about the possibilities of teleportation. It was still half a joke to us. We hadn’t reached any conclusions but it was almost a quarterly review so he leaked the idea we were building a working prototype to the press. The company got a weeks’ worth of free press while I spent a month fielding phone calls and defending my credentials as a scientist.” Rufus shook his head, looking back at the blueprint. “If it works to his advantage he hangs whoever’s necessary. This time it’s us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“If Cahill’s cell was working he’d be on it right now reporting us to every agency he knows. The press would be flying choppers overhead so they could add stock images to their trashing of Connor in the mid-day news and sooner or later they’ll start taking about the tech used. How long do you think it’s going to be before someone points out Jiya and I made it? From there it’s a hop, skip and a jump to us being blackballed from every reputable company in the country. But Connor? He’s a popular eccentric. A media darling. He’ll walk away with a slapped wrist.”

Sorry seemed like an insignificant platitude.

“I need coffee.” Jiya sighed, standing then resting her hand on Rufus’ shoulder, dropping her chin on his head. “Anyone else want something before we get started?” There were general affirmative responses as she made her way out the door.

The mood didn’t lighten. 

As the duo continued their work Lucy ventured to check out the books in a small cabinet, feeling less than useful while she waited. There were a couple of autobiographies from the past couple of decades and some science journals. Nothing that really stood out. In the end she resigned herself to re-reading a salacious retelling of life as a pastry chef, leaning her head back against the top of the sofa. Flynn – Garcia? Could she really call him that without sighing it? – seemed to be having the same difficulty as he leafed through a magazine at the opposite end of the seat. Apparently he didn’t handle inaction well either as he kept twisting in his seat, adjusting his feet, moving his arm into a more comfortable position. 

Why did that position have to be along the back of the sofa mere millimetres away from her hair? The coil of tension that sprang up at the proximity of his fingers made it impossible to concentrate. If he shifted just a little….

Amy was being Amy. From early childhood her version of exploration involved touching. ( _You look with your eyes_ had been an oft quoted refrain in the Preston household.) She was moving from surface to surface picking up anything that caught her attention, weighing it in her hands, checking underneath it for no good reason before returning it to its original location. Jessica walked with her hands behind her back. Lucy wasn’t sure if that was to prevent her from touching the things in the room or Amy.

As Flynn’s fingers twitched a fraction closer to Lucy Amy picked up an old freestanding radio for inspection. She did her usual weighing and turning before returning it to its place above a china cabinet that looked to Lucy to be a Robert Thompson original, mouse and all. Before it touched the work surface music began to hum out of it, startling everyone.

“It wasn’t me.” She jumped backwards, hands in the air.

“Amy!”

Her bottom lip pouted out. “It wasn’t. I didn’t do anything.”

“You must have knocked the dial.” Did she have to be so stubborn?

“Nah ah. Didn’t touch it.”

“Just turn it off.”

“I didn’t turn it on. I’ve no idea how to turn it off again.”

Rufus motioned with his hand, “Here. Give it to me.” He fiddled with the front, causing a nasty static burst before a guitar strummed and a smooth voice chimed in “ _I am not in love, but I’m open to persuasion.”_

Jessica beamed. “I fricking love this song!” She pulled Amy’s hand and turned her in a perfect circle before sliding her arms around the other woman’s waist. “Wanna dance?”

In answer Amy looped her hands around Jessica’s neck and started to sway.

Lucy smiled while Rufus frowned, still fiddling. Beside her Flynn asked, “Is she always so changeable?”

“Who? Amy?” The two woman moved with enviable synchronicity. It was almost enough to make Lucy wish she hadn’t give up dance classes, well except for the fact she was about as graceful as a new-born giraffe. “Always. If you don’t like the mood she’s in come back in five minutes and find out what’s next.”

Garcia watched them dance for a beat. “Jessica seems quite smitten.”

When Lucy turned her head she was surprised how close he was. Close enough to see the flecks in his eyes and the dimple in his cheek. Oh.

His head cocked slightly, his lips twisting upwards and if she just leaned forward …

“You have got to be kidding!”

They sprang backwards guiltily, turning to Rufus and Jiya who were peering into the back of the radio with frowns written deep on their faces.

“Problem?” Flynn found his voice to ask.

Rufus spun the radio around to show his issue. As if Lucy would have the first clue about the workings of a tubular – There were no tubes in the box. In fact that’s all it was. A box. With the back off the radio it was clear there was absolutely nothing inside.

“But you just changed the channel?”

“I know.”

“How?”

Rufus turned the dial again and Joan Armatrading’s voice faded only to return.

“That’s not possible.”

“The radio doesn’t seem to know that.”

Jiya looked murderous. “This has got to be one of Connor’s tricks.”

Rufus turned the dial full circle. The music faded in and out, only this time the voice was removed from the track.

“No fair. We’re missing the best lines.” Amy protested.

No matter what he tried Rufus couldn’t get the words to the song back. 

“Lucy!”

“Amy the not-a-radio radio is a bit more important than the lyrics to a song.” Her attention was fixed on the box miraculously changing volume.

“Please! Just the one line.”

Argue or relent? Who cared? The radio was working on its own. It was totally impossible and absolutely a trick. Still, the guitar was picking up and… “ _Lover make love, with affection, sing me a love song but this time with a little dedication.”_ She sang the line without really thinking about it.

The world focused in as Flynn stopped looking at the not-radio and stared fixedly at Lucy. That voice. The voice from the gazebo. The…

_The piano forte tinkled as she sang, her voice like that of an angel, pure and true. He wasn’t sure when last he had felt this abject admiration for a woman. Everything about her glowed, her skin against her gown, her shoulders in the candlelight. His wife had been a good woman and he had loved her dearly but this, he had never experienced such an epiphany before._

_“I say we take the deal.” His partner was beside him, drink in hand. When was the last time he had been without a drink?_

_“You are so certain?”_

_“Keynes is offering a pretty purse. One month’s work. We wouldn’t even have to travel. A simple find and deliver. Then we’d have enough to feather our nest well.”_

_He frowned as the younger man slurred. Not too long ago they had fought together, two soldiers to survive the War of Spanish Succession now adrift in the world. They had both lost their wives. They had both lost comrades. They had both lost themselves for a time. A firm friendship had been born._

_Three weeks in this house and that friendship was beginning to weaken._

_Was it that he had caught the look in his partner’s eyes when he thought no one was looking? The covetous glances at the woman singing? Was it the drink that loosened his tongue and clouded his reason? How much had he lost to Keynes at cards not through lack of skill but rather through the demon drink?_

_“Something about this job bodes ill. Czernobog walks in the shadows.”_

_“Curse your Slavic gibberish. No gods but one walk the night. We take the job. We make our money.” He slung back what was left in his glass. “She won’t be so quick to turn her nose up at a man of property.”_

_The unease intensified._

_He thought to try for her hand? Truly he was a younger man, his boyish face not yet touched by the winds of time, his browner hair not flecked with grey. Would she look favourably at the offer? His heart rebelled at the thought._

_The lady in question finished her song, curtsied to the room and moved swiftly to find her place in back, away from company. As she passed he caught her eye, saw her hesitate before she remembered herself and moved on, where the ghost of her fingers had brushed was now alive with an awareness that had not been before. The feel of vellum in his palm a balm to his troubled soul._

_Mayhaps his partner was fair of face but he was not in receipt of her inner most thoughts._


	6. Sunday - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions, revelations, near misses and Rittenhouse.

"It’s tiny.” Lucy took an involuntary step back. These new friends of hers were great and of course she wanted to help but, hell no.

“Well it is a crawl space so…”

It was all well and good for Jiya to shrug it off. She didn’t feel the crush of the dark or the air running out and the-

“Hey.” Flynn’s hand rested on her arm, his voice her anchor to the present, “Take a breath.” Concern hovered around him. “I thought we lost you there for a minute.”

The dark space still pulsed with malice but Lucy wrapped her arms around her body and tried to see passed it. She was in a large dining room. There were windows that light shone through in shards. There was enough room for Jiya and Rufus, herself and Garcia to be stood without touching. If she needed she could walk to the door and open it. She was not trapped.

“Sorry.” She hated that she couldn’t control this. It was irrational. Ok, it was kind of rational given the car in the river and the way she couldn’t get out but this wasn’t a car. They weren’t in the river. Big dining room. Airy dining room. Lots and lots of air.

“No need to apologise.” He was watching her with a keen interest. “Claustrophobia?”

She nodded, almost ashamed, her mother in her head telling her she was foolish and to just get over it.

“My brother suffers from it.” He stepped sideways and she followed him, turning and finding her focus shifting to the tall windows and the garden beyond, not the meter square tunnel. “He got stung by a bee when he was a child and went into anaphylactic shock. Ever since then he panics if he can’t draw in a deep breath which is psychologically tied to small spaces for him.”

“I nearly drowned in a car.” It felt better to justify where it came from although she understood justification should not be necessary.

“Oh my god! Really?” Jiya looked horrified.

“I was a long time ago.” She rushed, not wanting to go into details. “It’s not a problem. I just don’t like small spaces.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally. I get that.” Jiya looked back at the hole in the wall and the decorative grating beside it on the floor. “Rufus and I will do the crawl space. Why don’t you go round up stuff in the library? It’s kind of high up so Mr Giant here would be a better fit anyway.”

***

Amy felt like a kid kicking her shoes. Not that she was complaining. Holding a ladder for Jessica had its benefits. Killer view. The only down side was there was so much stuff in the storeroom she was hip deep in boxes that smelled like mold. Or was it mildew? Was there a difference?

“Hey! Earth calling Amy!” Jessica caught her attention before she dropped the next camera. Good job too. The things were small enough to loose but after Rufus impressing on them how much each cost they were being extra vigilant.

The device itself was no bigger than a button pin and virtually flat. The gubbins that attached it into the air vents or onto other surfaces only slightly more substantial. Amy weighed it in her palm before remembering the radio and quickly adding it to the collection in the box she had. “That’s all of them in here.” The part of the map they had said nine and by her count that’s what she’d put in the box. “Any idea why Connor would have wanted a store room bugged?”

Jess shimmed down the ladder, landing squarely on the floor and dusting her hands on the back of her pants. Lucky hands.

“I’m still not sure why he wanted to make us all see ghosts.”

“There is that.”

Jessica gave the room a quick once over. Dust sheeted furniture and boxes lay everywhere. “There’s something he’s not saying.”

“More than he hates Cahill and wanted to scare him to death?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I’d hate the prick for torpedoing my career too. Actually I don’t think I need a reason to hate him but Connor’s really good at deflection.” She lifted the corner of the closest sheet. “Can you imagine having enough cash that you could put this stuff in a room and just forget about it?” As if they had spare dressing tables given how many bedroom there were.

“Why darling,” Amy drawled, affecting a bored femme fatal pose, “Money is no object here. We use it to light the fires don’t you know.”

Jessica grinned. “Ah yes. I’d forgotten we bathed in Dom Perignon.”

“And, if you should get peckish…”

“We snack on caviar.”

They giggled and manouvered their way over to the door.

“Amy?”

“Yup?”

Normally Amy made the first move so it was refreshing when Jessica kissed her. It gave her time to see that the other woman kissed with her eyes closed and to watch her hair slide to the side with the tilt of her head. As Amy’s own eyes drifted closed she savoured the smooth suppleness of the mouth on her own and remembered again why she enjoyed kissing women.

“I didn’t want the weekend to end without doing that.” 

Jessica’s cheeks had a pretty bloom to them that Amy couldn’t resist touching. “You should always get what you want. You look really pretty when you do.”

Jessica leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Amy’s cheek. “You’re very sweet.” She turned to the door. “We should get going.”

Amy placed her hand on the handle, slipping casually between it and the other woman. “About that.” She hooked a foot around Jessica’s calf and tugged. “I think we might have missed a camera. Maybe two. We should probably stay and investigate. You never know what we’ll discover.”

***

“Unbelievable.” Rufus grumbled.

“Inconceivable.” Jiya countered.

“The forces of Guilder shall pay.”

“Buttercup is alive, or was an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find her I shall be very put out.”

The world began to settle as Rufus fell into the rhythm of the familiar lines. The anger and the hurt weren’t gone, but being with someone who knew him, who would accept and support him no matter what, helped. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” 

“I was thinking,” Jiya said from behind him and he stopped, realised that wasn’t going to make much difference in the small space and began to look around for a grating they could crawl out of. If they were going to have a proper conversation it wasn’t going to happen with his boots in her face.

“One second.” 

The clatter as the metal hit the floor made him wince but being able to stretch to his full height and pop his spine back into position was priceless. He turned and watched as Jiya managed to get an arm and a leg out then had to pull them back as she couldn’t lodge her shoulder and head through at the same time. Going for gallantry and not a little self-indulgence (any opportunity to hold his woman was a golden opportunity) he offered a hand and helped her out. 

With her feet on the floor Jiya smoothed a hand over her braid then looked him over, sweeping a cobweb off his chin before hugging him close.

“I love you.” She said into his chest.

“Me too.” That didn’t sound right. “Love you I mean. Not love me. Not that I don’t. It’s just…”

She silenced him with a kiss. “Shut up you idiot.”

They stood like that for several long beats before she pulled back and looked around the small room. Office maybe? It seemed a bit generic even if all the furnishings were antique.

“Rufus, about this weekend,” she wished she could make it go away for him, for them, for all the trouble that was about to come their way. The only good thing to come from it was the certainty she felt. 

“It sucked. Don’t worry. I’m through. As soon as we’re out of here you never need to see Connor again.”

Looking up she traced his face with her eyes, noting the downturn of his mouth and the way he looked about as lost as a puppy whose owner had abandoned him by the roadside. Her heart broke for him, this wonderful, funny, compassionate, caring man who felt more deeply than most would ever appreciate. “Yeah, no. That’s not going to work for me.” She offered, hoping he’d know where she was going with this. His scrunched up brow implied otherwise. “Connor’s an idiot. He’s selfish and thoughtless. He’s singlehandedly ruined us. But, in his own way, he loves you. And you love him.”

Rufus sucked air through his teeth, ran his hand over the back of his head, trying to find the words to express the mixed up emotions inside him and failing.

Being well versed in the book that was Rufus Jiya doggedly continued, “You’re mad. I get it. I’m mad too and if I’m honest I’m kind of hoping for an eye opening moment where Connor has to confront his actions and finally understands their impact, either than or a karma style vengeance. Probably isn’t going to happen but it’s a hope.” 

Rufus perched himself on the edge of a unit. He opened his mouth to answer her, closed it again, looking on helplessly.

Jiya slid between his legs and hugged him close again. “The thing is, as I see it, Connor is Connor. You can shout, rant, rave, scream and it might make a difference, might not. In the end, it comes down to you looking yourself in the mirror every day knowing you walked away from the man you’ve thought of as a father for years. Or not. No matter what he’s done here I don’t think you can live with that and I don’t want for you to shoulder that burden. So I vote hate him right now. Ignore him for as long as you need. Preferably make him grovel and then, when you’re ready, agree to meet, maybe start with a phone call, just don’t axe him out of your life and live to regret it.”

Unsure how he’d gotten this lucky Rufus hugged her tighter, never wanting to let her go. “You don’t want to kill him?”

Her laugh vibrated through his sweatshirt. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not asking me to kill him then?”

She looked up and smiled, one hand lifted to smooth the lines of his face. “No. But I do have a question.”

“Ok.”

“I was thinking. All this nonsense. All these people. It really puts things in perspective.” She dropped a kiss on his jaw. “The only thing that really matters to me is you. You know how I feel about marriage and that’s not changing any time soon but this made me realise something. Even though I don’t want to get married I do want to spend the rest of my life not being married to you, because no matter what happens I want to be able to share the ups and downs with you for always.” She blinked, surprised to find her eyes full. “So what do you think?”

“About not being married to you?” His eyes looked suspiciously wet too. “For the rest of our lives? I do.”

***

There was never going to be a good time for this conversation. There was never going to be a good time for either conversation they needed to have. Was he at three deep and somewhat heavy conversations now? They were starting to stack up.

 _Lucy, Cahill is your biological father. He killed my wife and your other father._ Far too blunt. Better to lead into that one.

 _Lucy, I’m still seeing images of you and I in a different time and I’m beginning to think Connor doesn’t have anything to do with it._ Which made him sound two steps over the line of sane human being. 

_Lucy, I’m an avid fan of your writing. Your work speaks to me in a way I’ve never known before and even before we met I felt a connection._ That just made him sound stalker-ish. Argh. There had to be a way to do this.

 _Lucy, you are a beautiful and intelligent woman. I love talking to you and would very much like to continue our conversations, if you want, once this weekend is over. Over dinner. I realise I’m older than you and a widower and really rather cynical but..._ He should just go and hang himself now.

“Can you imagine owning a library like this one?” 

Now that he’d heard her sing he couldn’t help but hear the musicality of her voice, a song that struck a chord fathoms deep inside. He focused on her properly; stood on her tiptoes, hair flowing down her back, shoulder revealed where her top had slipped down, fingers hovering over the spines of book after book, as though she’d seen divinity in the embossed letters. Flynn wasn’t sure he had ever see a more beautiful sight.

“Very impressive.”

They’d easily collected Rufus and Jiya’s equipment however the temptation to linger had called and watching Lucy awe struck over history and books was a rare pleasure not to be squandered.

She glanced back at him, the warmth of her gaze spilling over. Something clutched tight inside. 

“When I was in here yesterday Emma seemed to appear out of nowhere then Amy and I found the servants stairs and I thought that’s where she’d come from.” Lucy was casting speculative glances at the shelves of books. He found himself moving closer, a need to be in her orbit stronger than he wanted to explain. “Now I’m not so sure.” She ran a measured glance at the shelves. “If she’d come from there the skeleton would have landed on her not us. So it stands to reason there’s another concealed entrance here.” Experimentally she pulled a copy of _Great Expectations_ forward. Nothing happened.

Was she humming? Flynn needed, physically needed, to be closer to her to catch the notes, to breathe the same air, to – oh yeah, he was sunk.

“If I were a lever to open a door which book would I be? Melville? No that was 1851. It should be older than that.” She stepped sideways and he followed, looking at the shelves himself now, curious and in awe.

“ _The Age of Reason?_ ” He suggested. “Wasn’t that around 1800?”

She was still looking. “Yes. 1794. Good thought.” She moved closer to pull the book back. Again nothing happened except to the speed of Flynn’s pulse.

“No.” She moved on, her footsteps light across the wooden floors, a small furrow between her eyebrows. “I wonder.” She turned to fully face him then. “The house was transported from England and reassembled here. Do you suppose the builders would have chosen an American novel rather than the original which was no doubt still packed in a trunk somewhere?”

He really needed this woman in his life. With a mind like that they could brain storm every plot issue and have them resolved in no time. And he could sit and watch her while she thought. “Absolutely.” He began to speed read spines. “Something either madly popular or controversial. Something they’d have heard about even if they couldn’t read well.”

Their hands landed on Edgar Allan Poe at the same time, fingers brushing as they pulled it towards them. A wall slid seamlessly away with barely a whisper. Lucy double checked and yes, her back would have been to the now missing shelves. 

How had Cahill and Emma known about it?

“You are a genius, Dr Preston.” Thrilled at the discovery Flynn beamed at her, picking her up and twirling her around. Unintentionally it brought her face up to his height and her lips within easy distance. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the way her teeth bit at her bottom lip. Could he lean forwards and kiss her? Trace her lip with his tongue? Would she kiss him back or slap him?

Daring to lift his eyes to hers he caught them blown wide, pupils almost entirely taking over. He could feel the breath she gasped out fanning across his cheeks, inspiring an instinct as old as time to kick in so that he lowered his head to-

Thud.

The noise echoed down the passageway breaking the moment and pulling them apart. Lucy took a swift step backwards as he mirrored her action, both glancing at each other before quickly looking away and down the unlit path.

“Was that..?”

“Sounded like something hitting a wall.”

“Something big.”

***

Thankfully the passageway was full height and if not wide it wasn’t exactly closing in on Lucy either. She definitely felt uncomfortable as they made their way carefully forward but the light from their respective phones helped and, while no electricity seemed to be fitted here, there were oil lamps that with a bit of encouragement lit to give off halos of light.

It also helped that her mind was only half occupied with the confines of the space. The rest was split, fifty/fifty on the noise and what had made it, on the way Garcia had been about to kiss her.

He had been about to kiss her right? She hadn’t imagined it? His big hands had clasped her waist and held her against his chest while they spun round. She’d felt all his muscles flex beneath her overly sensitised flesh which had made even more of her tingle then he’d looked at her…

What if it was wishful thinking? 

“I thought there would be more exits.” He was feeling the walls, looking for seams. So far the entrance from the library appeared to be the only one.

Lucy suspected that this particular set of hidden passageways was more likely to be used by the owners of the house rather than the servants. After all, what reason would a servant have for creeping through additional back passages? If she was right there would only be a limited number of rooms connected to said corridors.

“I think we need to go further in.” She didn’t want to say it, would rather turn around and go back to space and the light of the library, to him with his hands on her and that look in his eye so that she would know one way or the other. However the thud had been loud. Someone – something? – could be in trouble. Or was it just another of Connor’s set ups?

Flynn reached back and took her hand, the contact surge of electricity a pleasant shock. “You hanging in there?”

“Mm hmm.” She managed.

“Stay close.” His voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket, beating away the shadows and keeping her focused. “I think I can hear something.”

Four steps on and the pathway split. Trying to keep a sense of direction wasn’t easy in the dark without obvious markers but if Lucy had to hazard a guess, “I think the right hand path takes us towards the morning and dining rooms, the left should take us towards the back of the house and the sun room.”

He stood and listened so she stood as still as she could. His head tilted each way ever so slightly before he nodded right. “The noise is coming from down there.”

She couldn’t hear much (okay that might be because she was concentrating on keeping her breathing regular and her pulse under control) but she nodded her trust anyway. They moved on and sure enough within another couple of steps she too began to hear a faint scraping noise. “Is that..?”

His finger found her lips to silence her while he half turned to listen better. “Someone’s behind there.” He whispered, crouching low and pressing his ear to the wall. She did the same and heard the unmistakable sound of a cough.

In her head she tried to imagine the downstairs layout as she knew it, deciding there was only one possible reason for someone to be so low in the wall. She knocked sharply. Flynn tried to catch her hand but it was too late. The noises on the other side halted and a pregnant pause ensued. 

Flynn tried to tug her away, move her on fast but she held firm and spoke clearly. “Rufus? Jiya?”

A somewhat muffled response came almost immediately. “Lucy? Is that you?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“Trying to get back to the dining room. We heard a noise. Are you ok?”

It was odd talking through a wall. “Flynn and I found a passageway in the library. We heard a noise too. Like someone falling.”

“Yeah. Any idea where it came from?”

Flynn gave a definite shake of his head. “No. Our path leads towards the breakfast room.”

Another brief pause. “We’ll meet you there.” Then the scuffling kicked in again and the other pair were gone.

Flynn stood, looking stern in the half light of the corridor. “That was quite a risk you took.”

“Risk?”

“What if it hadn’t been Rufus and Jiya?”

Who else was it going to be? “There are only so many people it could be and as far as I know they’re the only ones crawling about rather than walking.”

He considered for a moment, licking at his lip. He really had to stop doing that. It was very distracting. “And if it had been them?”

“Them?” Lucy tensed up.

“The other us.” He was watching her closely. Was this a test? To see if she believed Connor’s bad taste joke? Only, it couldn’t have been a joke. Even Connor couldn’t direct the path of her dreams.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “You think they’re real?”

“You don’t?”

He was far too good at batting questions back at her but she needed to know. Time to be brave. “I think I’ve been dreaming about them.” 

She’d almost expected that smirk of his at her statement. Then she could have consigned him to one of Dante’s nine levels of hell and maybe given herself a quick slap of perspective. Instead he looked away, took his own deep breath and said, “It’s … possible … I have too.” 

A million questions buzzed through her head but before she could form even one out loud he continued, “Earlier? When you sang?” _Damn Amy._ “Your voice was very familiar. I think I heard it when we bumped into each other outside.”

He’d heard her singing? “That’s not possible. I wasn’t...”

“I know. But a woman in blue dress was. She was singing to a child.”

That slick of ice washed through Lucy again, that nameless, shapeless fear rearing. Not for herself but for someone else. Someone she cared about more than life itself. Amy? No. Amy wasn’t in her dreams. Could it be … Amy’s hothouse ghost? A child crying for his Mama. The wisp of a name curled around her tongue only to vanish again.

He reacted to something on her face. “You’ve seen her too?”

“Not exactly.” How to explain the feelings that had remained when she’d woken? How to explain the pull she felt in some parts of the house but not in others? “This is going to sound crazy…”

“We’re talking about dreams we both seem to be having involving people who look ridiculously like us, so as far as crazy goes I think we can just bypass that for now.”

She gave a small laugh. “I haven’t exactly seen your lady in blue but I think I might have … been part of her?” What precisely was she saying? “Not like joined or split or anything. It’s just that when I wake up it’s like I’ve been moving in someone else’s shoes.”

Something flared on his face. “And you have no choice but to do what they are.”

Her eyes widened, sure he must be teasing but finding only truth in his gaze. “Yes! Exactly! And even though my brain is saying one thing my feet are doing something entirely different. I’m seeing things that are totally new but completely familiar.”

“Until you wake scared, with your heart pounding and the desire to jump up and prevent something rides you.”

“Then it all fades away.”

Lucy wanted to hug him for understanding. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that she wasn’t alone in these strange imaginings. Neither action would change the fundamental truth that they were talking about ghosts she wasn’t sure she believed in.

The silence stretched as they continued on.

He came to a halt and turned to face her again. “In the day room when you sang I saw the woman playing a piano. Whoever I was part of was arguing with his partner about a job he didn’t want to take. Someone called Keynes had offered a lucrative position but I – he? – felt it would be wrong to take it.”

“Keynes?”

“Mmm.”

The name rang a bell. “Connor’s housekeeper said Mr Keynes wanted all the fires lighting.”

Flynn stopped and thought, nodding as he recalled the woman bending through the dining table. “I don’t know the name. Was it familiar to you?”

“No.” Everything she’d read before her arrival had been about the Cahill’s except, “The family who rebuilt here were the Preost’s, which coincidentally is the old English version of Preston, but the last of that name married into the Cahill’s over a hundred years ago.”

Flynn looked like he was about to say something then changed his mind. “That would be the Mildred Connor mentioned?”

“I believe so. She would have been Benjamin Cahill’s grandmother.”

His lips twisted. “We need to have another word with Connor.”

***

“Whoa there.” Rufus almost went head first into a joined Amy and Jessica as he exited the dining room. 

“What the rush?” The two women had a glow about them that hadn’t been there when he’d last seen them. “We’ve got your stuff. All present and accounted for.”

Jiya followed him out the door, took in the women’s joined hands and smiled briefly before asking, “Did you hear the noise too?”

“Noise?”

“It came from near the breakfast room we think. Sounded like something falling.” She started in that direction so they could follow her. “Lucy and Flynn heard it. They found some sort of tunnel and are following it to see if they can find the source from their side.”

“Lucy’s in a tunnel?” That was enough to shock Amy’s pants off.

“Isn’t this door normally open?” Jessica gave the handle to the breakfast door an exploratory turn. It moved but the door refused to budge.

“It hasn’t been closed since we arrived.” Rufus tried and found the same problem. The catch was lifting but there was something holding the door shut. He put his shoulder to it. It moved a crack. “A little help?”

Jiya and Jessica added their weight and the door moved reluctantly, a groan coming from the other side. Amy managed to get her head through the opening.

“Connor?” 

“Connor?” The three pushing asked, confused.

Amy wiggled her arm and part of her body through the gap. “He’s on the other side behind the door. He’s not moving.”

Without another word the three put their backs into making the gap big enough for Amy to get all the way through. From inside they could hear her talking and a grunt as the barrier moved and the door swung freely. Quickly entering they saw Amy with her ear over Connor’s mouth and her fingers at his neck.

“He’s breathing but there’s a baseball sized lump on the back of his head.”

Rufus felt a rush of relief. Yes he was mad at him but that didn’t mean he wanted anything bad to happen to Connor.

“Urgh.” The man in question mumbled starting to stir.

Amy lifted his head cautiously, using her knees as a pillow so that he was more upright. “Connor? Can you hear me?” 

“What..?” He blinked several times trying to focus. “Rufus?”

He crouched down, checking for other damage. “Yeah. I’m here. What happened?”

Connor raised a hand to his head and lowered it again disgusted. “Someone hit me.”

“Really?” Jiya didn’t sound all that sympathetic.

“Of course they did.” Jessica point blank did not believe him.

Connor’s head must have been bad as no pithy response ensued only a continuation of his statement. “I was minding my own business when a shadow fell across me then everything went black.”

Still sceptical Jessica gave the room a quick once over. “Hate to be a party pooper here but there’s only one door and you were lying against it. As tricks go this one was beneath you C Man. And if you think we’re going to buy it after the crap you pulled last night you have another think coming.”

For the first time in Rufus’ knowledge Connor looked truly crestfallen. Jiya’s wish of karmic rebuttal was apparently coming to fruition.

They all looked at each other, weighing Connor’s story with Jessica’s assessment. 

Amy was the first to take sides. “Jess has a point.” She dropped Connor’s head back to the floor and stood. “A singular blocked exit tells its own story.”

Connor levered himself up, pale beneath his skin. He took one shaky step then another before collapsing into the closest chair. “I could hardly hit myself on the back of the head.”

There was that. Still, if he could turn motion sensitive recording and projecting equipment into ghosts that dissolved upon touch he was capable of rigging up a means of causing his own injury. The only thing was there was nothing near the door and nothing for any large object to have rolled underneath.

“How did you do it?” It was a simple case of professional curiosity Rufus concluded, not the grain of a doubt worrying away at him. “A collapsible rig? Robotic controls?”

Connor’s mouth flapped, his eyes wounded. He moved his hand gingerly to explore the welt. “My dear boy,” some of the life was starting to return to his voice but with it came resignation and dejection. “If I was staging something along these lines I would have made sure to use a sleeping draught. It would be far less hassle and much less painful.”

With years’ worth of observations on the man Rufus knew he was speaking the truth. No way would he willingly hurt himself if there was an easier and more effective way of achieving something. “So you’re saying…”

“I was occupied examining the … paintings … when a shadow appeared and hit me.”

“I call bullshit.” Jessica was watching carefully. “Examining paintings? Give me a break.”

Connor had the decency to look sheepish. “They are very interesting.” But even Rufus could hear the lie. “Very well. I was looking for a concealed safe.”

Jiya scoffed. “Oh, come on! You’ve lived here on and off for what, most of your life and you don’t know the place like the back of your hand?”

Yup, the blood was absolutely returning to Connor’s brain. “I have been in possession of the house for some twenty nine years and while I know most of the layout there is a concealed section somewhere. Otherwise I would have found-“

“Holy fuckballs!” Amy screeched, her face bleaching of colour. The others spun in time to see the painting at the far end of the room swing open. “What are you trying to do to me?!!”

Flynn jumped down, lifting Lucy out of the entranceway. “I gather you weren’t expecting us?”

“So not funny! Next time say something before you make the eyes of a god damned painting move. Do you know how many nightmares you just resurrected for me?”

The Croatian turned back to the doorway hanging open. “The eyes hmm?” Flynn began to examine the painting, noting the holes where the eyes should be before sliding the small panel he’d moved from the other side back into position.

Rufus went to join him, his blood starting to boil over. He spun on Connor, trying hard not to shout. “You almost had me there you know? I almost fell for it again. God, what kind of idiot am I?”

Jiya looked concerned. “Rufus?”

“Yesterday morning I sat in here and thought I saw those eyes move. I just about convinced myself my eyesight was failing, even burned myself with coffee for the imagining too. Not a minute later Connor here strolls in and pushes me to install the wires he wanted.”

“I have no idea…”

“Save it for someone who gives a damn.” If the man hadn’t already been injured Rufus may well have hurt him.

“Rufus, please.” Connor half rose, reaching out. “I swear I did not know-”

“As if I’m going to believe you now.” He was so out of here. There was no going back. No matter what he’d never be able to trust Connor again.

“Er, Rufus?” Flynn placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. The shorter man ground his teeth in frustration but looked where he was being turned to. The passageway behind the painting was dark but the area around the exit was visible enough. Two distinct sets of footprints had disturbed the dust. Just two.

***

As Rufus checked and double checked the dust on the floor Lucy got a brief rundown of what had happened on this side of the tunnel from Amy.

“A shadow?” She queried.

Still looking at Rufus Connor managed a blithe, “I highly doubt a shadow manifested itself to pick up an object and inflict blunt force trauma but the shadow of someone is all I saw.”

Lucy managed to control her eye roll. “So how did they get in?”

This time he looked at her. “That is the question. Did you happen to see anyone while you were walking through the walls?”

This time she couldn’t stop the roll. “If we’d seen anyone we’d have said. Also, they’d have left footprints, unless you think your shadow can fly too?”

“Sarcasm suits your sister. It’s not a good look for you.” Connor turned back to Rufus, resigning himself to standing and approaching the other man cautiously.

“Remind me to scrub Connor from our Christmas card list.” She side-mouthed for her sisters’ benefit. “So you didn’t see anything?”

Amy put her hands over her eyes and ears, shaking her head. “See no evil. Hear no evil. That’s me.” Then she stopped playing and looked Lucy full in the face. “You were in a tunnel?”

“It’s more of a corridor.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really.”

Amy shrugged. “You think Connor’s on the level?”

“Jury’s still out.”

As though summoned by their words Connor returned with a reluctant Rufus trailing behind. He seated himself and asked that the others do the same. 

“I find myself in the unfortunate position of having to explain my actions.” He started. Jiya looked like she was about to say something but he held up his hand, “Please. Just hear me out. I’ll answer anything you want after that.” He looked over at Rufus, obviously trying to show his sincerity. “When the Cahill Foundation removed me from my former position I was not in a very healthy place. I was determined to find a way to do to them as they had done to me.” He closed his eyes, remembering. “Anyway, I suddenly found myself with more time on my hands than I knew what to do with so I started to research Benjamin Cahill and his board members. I also started to explore my new dominion and came across a rather curious word I’d not heard before. A basic search on the internet dug up nothing so I started a deeper level investigation, read through likely books in the library, that kind of thing, and much to my surprise the word came back not only with links to this house but also to the Cahill Foundation.”

“Rittenhouse.” Flynn’s voice rumbled like thunder with all its foreboding menace.

Connor looked startled. “Mr Flynn? How do you ..?”

Flynn swallowed, his throat working overtime before he turned from the room to Lucy, meeting and holding her gaze. “My wife was killed because she found out something about Rittenhouse. A car mounted the pavement and hit her before driving away.”

“What?” Lucy couldn’t quite process what he was saying. “You’re not serious?”

“A black Lincoln that subsequently disappeared. When you told me about your father-“

“No.” She shook her head. “That was a drunk driver, a careless idiot, a …”

Amy’s voice sounded small beside her. “They gunned the engine Lucy.” She held onto her sister’s hand tightly. “They didn’t break or even slow down. They hit him and drove off as though nothing had happened.”

This didn’t make any sense. What were they talking about? Her father had died in an accident.

“After we spoke yesterday I did some digging.”

She pushed back her chair, standing and turning away. She did not want to hear this. 

“Lucy.” His voice held her as though it was physical thing, rooting her to the spot. The sympathy, the empathy in it was killing her. “In a roundabout way Lorena worked for the Cahill Foundation. I couldn’t find a link between them and your father though. I thought I’d got it wrong and that it was a sick coincidence until I checked on a database I used to have access to. Your birth certificate was there.”

The world was spinning rather too fast all of a sudden. Lorena? Lincolns? Birth certificates?

“Did you get a chance to speak to your mother about Cahill?”

“My mother?” Lucy suddenly felt very cold, as though someone had poured liquid nitrogen on her bones.

Those changeable eyes of his swirled like a vortex, emotion after emotion chasing through them until she wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began. “Benjamin Cahill is listed as your father on your birth certificate.” It was there on his face; truth, understanding, pain.

“I’m going to throw up.”

***

Garcia wanted to follow her but Amy dashed from the room close on Lucy’s heels. If he had ever doubted her knowledge of paternity her face had said everything he needed to know. He could throw up himself.

Connor however wasn’t done with his own confessions it seemed. 

“Right.” He cleared his throat and pushed forwards. “Your wife was involved with the Foundation and knew about Rittenhouse?”

 _Milosrdni raj (merciful heaven)_ he should have found a more gentle way to tell her. He should have said something in the library, sat her down and found a way to… Dear god he hoped she was ok.

“Lorena wrote Rittenhouse in her diary just before she died. Nothing more.” What was this thing that had caused so much pain?

“Ah.” Connor stopped and waited. When Garcia didn’t continue he asked, “And when you looked for it yourself?”

“Nothing much came back.”

It was Connor’s turn to look sympathetic. “It was rather obscure. Did you find anything about the Foundation?” The overt innocence in the other man’s voice made Flynn hackles rise.

“You know what Rittenhouse means?” He countered.

“If you know something about Cahill.” Rufus glared at Connor who sank back, defeated. “It’s not necessary of course. I can continue my tale without any personal gain.”

Flynn thought of the cash of documents he’d collected on people trafficking, sudden unexplained deaths of major obstacles, money laundering and more. Alone he could expose Cahill and friends, spend years with lawyers intent on suppressing the evidence, but with Connor’s media savvy he could blast them from here to the far side of forever. Later for that then.

“As I was saying, my search came back with a scant few hits but they all pointed to the same thing. The Rittenhouse stone. It’s reported to have peculiar properties that supposedly allow its owner to change the past.”

“I know that story.” Amy said from the doorway, a pale shadow of herself. “A Voodoo rock that has the power to bend time.”

The voice behind her was stronger than Flynn had expected. “It’s a myth, supported by cults and little more.” Lucy looked ashen, holding herself up with sheer iron determination. Her eyes skittered across him and passed the chair she had been seated in, looking instead towards their host.

“Yes, I was led to believe it was a long shot. However Cahill seems to believe in its existence quite fervently.” 

Her face lost even more of its colour if that was possible. “Then he needs a reality check.” Lucy sounded harsh, her voice rough and hurting. “David Rittenhouse was a clockmaker at the time of the War of Independence. By all accounts he was a despicable human being who treated others appallingly but ultimately he was of no great significance. A footnote to some influential people’s bibliographies.” Her look was scathing. “You think he had a magic stone to change the past?”

Amy looked at the room and then her sister. “He was supposed to have a Voodoo priest as a slave. In exchange for the slaves freedom he created the stone.”

“It’s nonsense.” Lucy’s face was arctic. 

Connor was more inclined to go with Amy’s story. “Cahill was most insistent I returned the house to his ownership and his plans involve everything up to and including demolition. He’s searching for the stone. Here in the house.” Various levels of disbelief shaded the faces that watched him. “I concluded that if the stone was real and could find it first I could use it to reset the time leading up to my unfortunate ousting and make things as they were supposed to be.”

Rufus spoke up. “Jiya and I overheard Cahill talking to Anthony Bruhl about building a device that would locate something within the house and grounds. He said it emitted a frequency and that his last historian was sure about that. Bruhl was quizzing me about the technicalities of the device last night.”

More than anything Garcia wanted to go to Lucy and hold her. She looked about as fragile as egg shell but there was steel in her as she straightened and said sharply, “So you would all like me to believe that this,” she gulped air, “all of this is about a supernatural stone that is going to rewrite history? What’s in the water because there is obviously a group delusion going on here?”

Connor straightened too. “I have the papers in my study Dr Preston. Perhaps you should read them?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milosrdni raj - merciful heaven


	7. Sunday night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High emotion, Celtic weave, secret rooms and danger.

The phone lines were down, not even a dial tone on the handset. Cell service was none existent. Connor’s tablet was about as useful as a chocolate fireguard. The tree that had trapped her in this hell hole had also killed off any chance of her contacting the outside world. Wouldn’t you know it? The first time in a long time that Lucy wanted to contact her mother and here she was, completely cut off.

Then there were Connor’s documents. Why couldn’t they have been of dubious origin or easily dismissed fakes? Instead they were primary sources she’d find hard to argue with, snippets of journals and letters that all said the same thing. David Rittenhouse, loathsome individual, had exchanged the freedom of two slaves for a gem that purportedly held the ability to change time. The fact that the stone in question was supposed to be over 200 carats might have had something to do with it – Rittenhouse was no idiot – but each new source concentrated on the myth rather than its material value.

“Lucy.” 

She swallowed and deliberately kept reading. She didn’t want to talk to him, or look at him, or think about anything he’d had to say.

“I’m sorry.” That beautiful voice of his was aching, stretched taunt. His Americanised accent was slipping into harsher consonants as he appealed for forgiveness.

“Stop.” She caught his wince, regretted the pain she’d caused, but she couldn’t do this now. “Please.”

He nodded once, lowered his lashes to veil his eyes, offering, “I wish I could have found a better way to tell you.” Before he left her at the desk.

Everything was mixed up, stood on its head. Unreal. She needed her mother to give her a flat out denial of what Flynn had said. Except, in her heart of hearts, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Too much fit with Garcia’s tale. Cahill’s allusion to Carol’s secrets. Carol’s suddenly constant string of calls that Lucy hadn’t picked up, now increasingly likely not to have been about marrying Noah but to tell her? Encourage her? Into something this weekend, after Amy told her where they were going. Cahill’s out of the blue job offer. His excessive knowledge of her achievements. His zeal for family. That frightening gleam in his eye that had made her skin crawl.

Good job she didn’t have anything left in her stomach to bring back up again.

Better to focus. 

One thing at a time. 

The Rittenhouse stone. Total baloney. As if time travel was possible – geez imagine the mess it would make if people started screwing around with events in the past. Plus, in all of these documents there was no mention of a return journey just the same lines about connection with what was and reliving things that had been. There was an odd kind of throw-away line about souls bridging time but ultimately it had to be a hoax.

“Hey you.”

Another time she’d want to talk. Another time she and Amy could curl up on the sofa and hide under a blanket together while the scent of strawberry shampoo danced in her nostrils and they cried about what they’d lost. Not now though. Now Lucy was hurt and angry, adrift and beleaguered.

“I need time, okay?”

Never one to take the hint Amy popped her head on Lucy’s shoulder, wrapped her arms around her sister’s neck. “I know this must be really hard and I should probably have shared better earlier but I just didn’t want to relive it. I honestly didn’t think it would help you to know. And if Cahill really is your father-”

Lucy’s stomach did an alarming somersault. 

“Amy I love you.” Always good to start with a positive. “I would pretty much sell my soul for you. But right now you need to back off.”

“Lucy…”

She couldn’t do this. No. She didn’t want to do this. 

Shrugging her shoulders to dislodge the arms, Lucy turned briefly. For her own sanity she needed to shut Amy down. 

“Mom knew we were coming here. I’d stake a lot on the fact that she knew Cahill would be here too. From what he implied they’ve been talking and have decided I should enter the Cahill Foundation’s employment. He’s crazy about family and all of a sudden that’s what I am. His family. And you know what? Even while that makes me sick to my stomach, there’s something worse than knowing they’ve been planning my life for me, just waiting for the right time to slot me into their little machinations. Because if this is true, and heaven help me but I think it might be, then did Dad know? Did he suspect that I wasn’t his? Did he love me less because of it?” Saying out loud was killing her.

Amy shook her head vehemently. “Lucy, no. He loved you. You know he loved you.”

“I thought I knew a lot of things but this, all of this, has made me doubt and I hate them for it. It’s like I’m losing him all over again.”

“You…” 

Her sister wasn’t blame for this sorry affair. She could stop there and Amy might leave it for a while. It was enough to be getting on with after all, but there was more and now that she’d started Lucy found it difficult not to say it all. “Either way, even though I want to rage against the world, that’s still not the worst of it. If what Flynn says is true – let’s face it why would he lie? – then Cahill or someone in his Foundation had Flynn’s wife killed. Had Dad killed. And why would they do that? Because he knew about this?” She thrust the papers in Amy’s face. “No. Dad had no reason to know about the stupid stone. The only thing linking him to them is me. Which means I’m the reason he’s dead. I’m the reason they went after you.” 

Amy’s face crumpled, tears flowing freely. Lucy gave her a swift hug but she didn’t have enough left for more. Instead she finished off, “So I’m sorry I can’t do a heart to heart right now. I’m not sure I’d survive it. Give me a while. Please. Go talk to Jessica or something and when I’m ready I’ll unpack all of this. Just not now Ames.”

***

She’d been reading, re-reading, and reading again for two hours by Flynn’s count. Waiting was killing him.

At least a dozen other ways of breaking his news had occurred to him in that time, along with trite phrases about twenty/twenty hindsight and using kid gloves. None of it helped.

He wanted to go to her, fold her into him and take away the pain. He wanted her to talk to him, to discuss whatever thoughts were running through her head so that she might find a semblance of peace. That’s not what she wanted though and he had to respect that. Had to wait and hope that she found it in her to want to talk with him again. It didn’t stop him watching her out of the corner of his eye. Didn’t stop the desire to smooth the lines from her forehead or the urge to still her hand as she twisted her bracelet around and around her tortured wrist.

“You’ve got it bad.” 

Jessica had spent a good portion of the past hour with Amy. Whatever was developing between the two this new hiccup in the weekend was bringing them closer together. Flynn really hoped it worked out for her. After her disaster of a marriage she deserved some happiness. Just like Lucy deserved happiness. She didn’t deserve this nightmare. There had to be something he could do.

“Boss man? You in there?”

Jessica was still beside him, trying to get his attention. What was she saying?

“I’m a little distracted.”

“No kidding. I was saying I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Like what?”

“Lost over a female of the species.”

“Jessica now is not-”

“I know. I know. Things ain’t looking all that great for Lucy right now. She’s got people who care about her though. People who love her.” She gave a very pointed eyebrow raise. “She’ll come through. Just give her a bit of space.”

Flynn’s mouth twisted down as he wilfully pushed most of what she was saying out of his mind. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

His PA didn’t answer, simply waved her hand to the rest of the group. “We need you.”

They were huddled around two sofas going back and forth. One side, chaired by Amy, seemed focused on ways they might leave the Manor. Wasted time as far as Flynn could see. Until the road was cleared they would be forced to sit tight. Mason, in super helpful ‘look how good I can be Rufus’ mode, did suggest they check the blue prints as he used to play in tunnels leading from the house as a child however the road was a good four miles out. There was no chance any tunnel structure would still be intact and useable for the entire distance.

The other side were worrying the Cahill bone.

“The man’s the chair of a renowned charitable organisation. You think they don’t vet those?” Jiya was trying to be helpful too, in her own way. She just didn’t know what he did.

Another glance across the room showed Lucy still nose deep in notes and papers. Flynn couldn’t do anything for her right now but he could do something to show Cahill’s true colours. “When my wife was killed I started searching for answers. Everything pointed to the Cahill Foundation but they were squeaky clean.”

“Quite.” Connor’s aggrieved tone was a testament to how hard he’d tried to find dirt and failed.

Jiya and Rufus exchanged a look. 

“That’s what we’re saying. We’ve all see them out in the community, raising money and giving back. Hell, there’s one of their homeless shelters not three blocks from where I grew up. Are you sure you’ve got the right people?” Rufus asked, keeping an eye on Flynn just in case his words upset the man.

Garcia pinched the bridge of his nose. This was why he’d held back. The image of the Foundation was rock solid. Even if he handed over all of his carefully collected evidence there would still be nay-sayers convinced that something so good could never do things that were so bad, not to mention those taking back-handers who would work to supress everything. 

“It took nearly a year before I got my first break.” He started, remembering the mounting frustration, the anger he’d struggled to contain, the hours with Dr Christopher so he’d been fit to go home to Iris. “An old contact heard I was looking and reached out. He was in deep cover, investigating the disappearances of army vets. He’d heard a whisper on the vine about a place he could go that would feed him, clothe him and offer him work. Only for down on their luck vets. No one who went came back.” Flynn had checked out the address, followed the money and found tentative links to the Foundation but while every instinct in him said there was something wrong with the place he couldn’t find anything obviously amiss. “Stiv ended up going in, following another missing soldier. His corpse turned up about six weeks later, minus all its organs.” And Garcia had another soul blackening him with guilt for the day of reckoning.

The five of them stared at him, confusion and horror combined. 

Jiya sieved through his statements and tried to sort the facts. “So you were a cop?”

“No.”

She frowned, “Then what’s with contacts and undercover work? And how did you even know where to start with an investigation if you didn’t have the skill set?”

“A former career.”

More stares. More confusion. 

Connor straightened his tie. “I do rather hate to be impolitic but would we be talking about a letter agency?”

Rufus’s head ping ponged between the two men. “Wait. You worked for the CIA? Shut the front door!”

Jessica looked appalled. “The CIA? Are you kidding me? They-”

There were things Flynn didn’t talk about. There were things he couldn’t talk about. In this though he could be absolute. “I have never and will never work for the CIA.”

“But you did work for another agency?”

Once that woman had the bit between her teeth she was impossible! “I was talking about Cahill and his Foundation.”

“Oh My God! I’ve been working for a spook.” She looked like she couldn’t make up her mind if that was horrific or thrilling.

Time to nip this in the bud. 

“ _Cahill_ ,” he emphasised the name, “traded the organs on the black market. He used his associates in the medical profession to help grease the wheels.” Jess snapped her mouth shut, grasped Amy’s hand then the two of them lent forward, agog. “I’ve got evidence of his handiwork. There are documents of how the Foundation’s counselling services have been used to pull vulnerable young people into the sex trade or into becoming drug mules. You name it, he’s part of it.”

“He has to be stopped.” Said a voice over his shoulder. “He can’t be allowed to continue hurting people.” Lucy’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and for the first time since he’d spoken in the breakfast room Flynn felt the world steady. He reached back and twined their fingers together, grateful to feel hers tighten.

“Ok. He needs to be stopped. We’re with you.” Jiya got a nod from everyone. “Right now we’re stuck in the same house with him though. And if Connor’s right…”

“I am always right.”

Rufus coughed none too discretely and Connor sank back down, chastened.

“Yeah, well, at this moment in time Cahill is AWOL. Has anyone seen him today?” A resounding no came from all. “So we’re assuming he’s poking about looking for this Rittenhouse rock?” It was a fair assumption. “Now, not trying to be funny here and definitely in camp sceptic but if this thing does what the myth says it does do we really want him getting his hands on it?”

There was a chilling thought. It didn’t actually matter if the Rittenhouse stone worked or not, Flynn realised, the fact was Cahill wanted it and anything he wanted badly enough to kill for could not be good. “We have to get it first.”

Jiya smiled, flashing teeth. “That’s the page I’m on.”

“But where do we start?” Amy asked. “You’ve been searching for how long Connor? You haven’t found anything.”

“Actually,” Connor said with a speculative gleam in his eye, “I rather think I’ve made a breakthrough.” He reached out and stilled Lucy’s wrist. “That is a very unusual design of Celtic weave, my dear. Quite coincidentally I’ve seen an almost identical pattern very recently. Carved into the stone work on the second floor.”

***

Ordinarily Lucy loved questions. She loved the puzzle and finding the pieces to fit the frame until she understood and could answer. Today all she had was questions and she could really do without it.

Connor was right. A duplicate of her bracelet’s metalwork was carved into a small stone patch of the wall, part of a larger piece, nothing overt but if someone had been looking for as long as he had them imprinted on the brain.

How was that possible?

She could still remember opening the box her father – and she was absolutely going to consider Henry Wallace as her father because it took more than a sperm donation to make a parent – had given her when she was thirteen. It had been his grandmothers. He’d wanted to pass on the history. Continue the family tradition.

Why would the Wallace’s have it?

She could maybe, at a stretch of gargantuan nature, see it being part of the Preston family. Preston. Preost. It was tenuous but at least it was a link. But the Wallace family? They were decent, honest folk. The family tree she’d made in fifth grade showed how they’d become white collar workers in more recent times but before that they’d been skilled labourers. Builders. Carpenters. Stonemasons.

Was it possible one of them had helped to reassemble the house?

It seemed highly unlikely but it was all she had because right there, in front of her, her fingers were running over shapes she could draw in the dark.

“Well it’s got to do something!” Amy was impatient, knocking on walls and stomping on floor boards. “What the hell’s the point in having a matching carving if it doesn’t open something?”

Lucy couldn’t really blame her. When Connor had made the connection it had seemed like everything was falling into place. Now however there was a decorative wall with a familiar pattern and little else. If she was honest it was surreal to have a larger version of her bracelet built into a wall. The level of dedication it must have taken for the stonemason to first create it and then transfer it to a different medium in miniature. It was exactly, well almost exactly, the same. There was a notch just off centre that looked like it had taken a hit and the stone had chipped. The roughness of it implied that it was fairly recent. Had Connor..?

With a sickening lurch Lucy found herself in the almost pitch black. Vertigo had her placing both palms on the wall to stay upright. It felt like riding the waltzer at the fair. Had the wall just moved? No. Surely not. 

She reached into her pocket and drew out her phone, scrambling for light before turning and screaming.

***

“Lucy?” She’d been right there. Flynn knew it. Knew the moment she wasn’t anymore. So where was she?

“Lucy?” He made his voice louder, checking where she’d been for any sign.

A scream bounced from behind the wall.

Every dream he couldn’t remember raced up to hit him. He had to get to her. Had to reach her in time.

Amy was beside him, just as frantic, pressing the wall, slamming it with the side of her hand, shouting Lucy’s name over and over. Nothing changed. Nothing moved. Lucy’s scream was gone and so was Lucy. He had to-

“Help.” It was weak. So quiet he almost missed it. But it was there. 

He quickly motioned for the others to be quiet, gestured for Jessica to move Amy away so he stood a chance of hearing again. Once the area was silent he called for her, ear pressed to the wall to hear any sound, palms either side of his head.

Nothing came back.

The sound of his own blood pounded through his ears. He had to fight to steady his breaths. She was there. He’d heard her. She was on the other side of the wall. There had to be a way to move it. A way to get to her. He couldn’t lose her.

“Lucy.” He called again, his voice breaking mid-syllable. 

This time he heard it. A small tap, a voice like a whisper.

“Are you okay?”

Whatever she said was lost in the masonry.

“Lucy, I’m here. We’re here. On the other side of the wall. Are you hurt?”

There was a gap before, “Can’t breathe.”

A myriad of horror scenarios flowed through his mind. Water filling the place she was. An air-tight room. A vacuum where the air was being slowly, inexorably removed. Panic tried to claw its way out but it wouldn’t help her. He had to help her. He had to think. None of those things were possible. Not really. If the wall had moved then the water would seep between the seams. Even if it was air-tight it was too soon for lack of oxygen to be kicking in. A vacuum was too elaborate, the house too old. So why couldn’t she breathe?

“Lucy. Talk to me.” He had dozens of questions but first he needed to know she was alright.

“Cahill.”

Ice lanced through his blood. Cahill was there? He had Lucy? Lorena’s broken body in the morgue spun before his eyes, remembrances of the odious man so calm as he reclined in his chair yesterday, imaginings of his hands around Lucy’s slim throat. Not Lucy. Cahill couldn’t hurt Lucy. There had to be a way to get her out of there. 

He moved with lightning speed, running his fingers along every inch of the wall trying to trigger whatever Lucy had found before. Please. He prayed with every short breath. Please let her be okay. Please God not her too.

Rufus was beside him, asking the question he should be asking, keeping her talking. “Cahill’s with you?”

The pause stretched out before, “He’s dead.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Dead?”

His brain scrambled to understand what was happening. Cahill wasn’t hurting Lucy. Cahill was dead. That’s why Lucy had screamed? So why couldn’t she breathe? Was there another threat?

“Are you safe?” It was the most important thing.

Painful seconds passed before she answered, “Yes.”

Flynn allowed himself a careful exhale, trying not to collapse in relief. “Is it just you and Cahill?”

Another pause and another affirmative.

“Can you describe the room?”

This time the silence stretched so long he wondered if she’d heard him, until, “Small.” Ah, that answered that question then. 

His lips virtually touched the wall as he spoke, pouring calmness that he didn’t feel, willing her to believe him. “Okay. It’s okay Lucy. Everything is going to be fine. There is air where you are. Try to take a breath and listen to me. Just keep listening to me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” He had to distract her. “Did you know Harry Houdini was supposed to have claustrophobic tendencies as a child? One of his biographies claimed he decided to teach himself that fear was all in the mind and that’s how he created his amazing escapes?” 

As he spoke he moved his hands further away from the centre, up and down the wall. There had to be a catch. There had to be something. Who the hell built this? 

Turning to the others Flynn implored, “Where were you? Before Lucy disappeared? Go back to that spot. What were you doing? What were you touching?” They moved hesitantly, trying to recreate the moment, unsure where they were at the exact moment she vanished. The wall stayed firmly still.

“Lucy. We’re going to get you out of there. I promise we’re getting you out. We’re looking for the mechanism to make the wall move. So far we haven’t found it. Can you tell me what happened? Did you touch something? Was there a catch or a button?”

He was asking too many questions. He knew he should focus on one at a time but he’d seen her earlier, looking at the crawl space and hyperventilating at the possibility. The idea of her trapped and alone in her own personal hell with the corpse of a man she just found out was her father and all round evil bastard to boot was too abhorrent. There had to be a way to get to her.

“Do something.” Amy was chomping at the bit, slamming around as she had been earlier. Jessica was reaching out to touch her, to offer support when a quiet hiss caught his attention.

“Do that again.”

“What?” The whole room look at him.

He caught Amy eye, stepping closer to indicate the area surrounding her. “You were waving your arms and stomping your feet.”

Nonplussed she stared at him like he’d lost his mind until it clicked and she saw where he was going. Staying within the same space she started gesticulating and moving her feet in small circles until with a gasp she stopped. Flynn spun to see Lucy curled up in a ball, arms tightly hugging her knees, lips pursed trying to moderate her rapid intake of air.

He flew to her side, tamping down the need to crush her into his arms and instead running his hand across her hair, down her shoulder. “Open your eyes, _Dušo_. You’re safe.”

Terrified brown eyes looked back at him as she blinked and focused. She uncurled slowly then, realising she was truly free, pushed to her feet, grasping his hand and holding fast. It took her several deep inhalations before she could speak, her voice regaining strength with every word. 

“Thank you.” Lucy encompassed them all in her gratitude. Then she turned and spoke directly to Garcia, “There’s a small room behind the wall.” He could feel the shudder through their connected hands. “It’s dark but from what I could see Cahill’s on a chair.” She gulped. “He’s … It’s not … It looks like he’s been tortured.”

***

Knowing roughly how the mechanism worked had helped. When they sought to spin the wall a third time they knew the area they were looking in and soon discovered the spot on the wall that activated it. Being ready meant they could wedge the wall half turned which had its ups and downs.

On the plus side the small six foot square room wasn’t closed off or dark. On the minus side the grisly mess that had been Benjamin Cahill was something Lucy could have lived the rest of her days without seeing in the full light.

“You’ve been brave enough Lucy. You don’t have to look.” Garcia said, putting himself between her and the blood.

The others were turned away, working their way through the grotesque scene and the inevitable nausea it brought. Only Flynn was facing it head on. She couldn’t let him do that alone. No matter how sick or dizzy it made her feel she had to be there beside him. She didn’t know what but there might be something she could do.

Stepping out from behind him Lucy willed herself not to pass out. In her head she pretended it was a photograph. Just an appalling photograph she had to study for her latest paper. Just like those pictures of maimed soldiers when she was writing about Vietnam. Just like those brutal shots of lynchings in the 30’s. She blocked out the iron tang that lingered in the air, concentrating instead on whatever aftershave her companion wore. As she pretended her heart out several things presented themselves. The body – she had to think of it as a body, not a person, or she’d never be able to do this – was tied to the chair, hands in back. The entrails had been looped around the neck and fashioned as a noose. Historically disembowelling was reserved for traitors. The tongue had been removed. Another traitor implication.

“Who did Cahill betray?” Ok. So her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked but, hey, she was doing her best.

Having moved closer to visually examine the body Flynn stepped back, “There’s probably a long list.”

“It would have to be someone in the house.” Dear God. Cahill was dead and someone had done _that_ to him. Someone in the house. Someone _still_ in the house. 

Connor mumbled in the background, a hasty idea to try and rejig the power systems so he could get a call out. A message. A way of contacting the outside world to tell them that a man had been murdered and that his killer was still in the house. With them.

Where were the other guests? 

“Rufus, go with him.” Lucy instructed, mind racing a mile a minute. “No-one goes anywhere alone.” Jiya left with the two men, working on the idea there was safety in numbers.

Amy and Jessica hung back. “You think we’re at risk?”

Flynn moved to cautiously lift the edge of a cloth partly obscuring something in the far corner. “We have to assume that’s the case.” He lifted a slim book between two fingers, stepping over the pool of gelatinous brownish gloop that was all that remained of Cahill’s life-force, working carefully not to contaminate the scene while finding as much information as he could.

A cursory inspection had him asking, “Lucy? I think this might be your area of expertise. It’s a journal.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jessica’s outrage was palpable. “There’s a dead guy with his insides on the outsides and you want to read a bloody journal? Are you out of your mind? We need to be looking for a way out of the house.” She started towards the door. 

He moved to intercept, explaining all the while that they needed to stick together, to know as much as they could to keep themselves safe, to find out who did this. Listening with half an ear Lucy began to skim the first open page. A couple of words caught her attention. _1920\. Dreams. Mildred._

“I think this was Mildred Cahill’s journal.” Written in the year she died. Had Cahill had this?

Amy took her hand and tried to pull her away. “Who gives a damn Lucy? Leave it for the cops. We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Her sister was right. Of course she was, only there were other pages and other words that had her attention now. Lucy shook her hand free and continued to read. _Child. Study. Voices. Keynes._

“Garcia?” He was beside her before she finished his name. “Mildred was dreaming. She mentions Keynes.”

He skimmed the pages himself. “You think she was seeing the same things as us?”

Another page, another set of similarities only Mildred wrote about more. _Doors slamming. Carpets moving. Bone deep cold. Things in the walls._

“Lucy!” Amy pushed between the writing and the people. “Cahill’s a corpse. Someone killed him. Why the hell are you reading a book? Are you crazy?” She nudged Lucy’s head to one side so that the body once again filled her vision. “See that? He used to look like this, now he doesn’t.” She shoved her phone before Lucy’s eyes. 

It took a second to refocus but when she did Lucy sucked in air fast. “Um, Amy?”

“We need to leave.” The other woman was moving away, taking the phone with her. 

Lucy reached out and took it from her before she got too far away, turning the screen so that Flynn could see what she had.

He looked about as pale as she felt. “When did you take this?” 

Amy dragged her hair out of her eyes in frustration. “What does that have to do with anything? We have to-”

“When Amy?” 

Something in Lucy’s voice cut through the tirade. “Last night. Cahill was being a prick and Emma got all pissy. Jessica slammed them both so I snapped a shot for the album. Shoot me. Who cares? He’s dead and there’s a killer in the house!”

“Have you looked at this?”

“When? It’s not exactly been quiet since I took it. Let’s just go.”

“No.” Lucy held up the screen so that her sister could view her work. Jessica moved to see what was so important. The four of them stared at the picture trying to make sense of Cahill in the background with Emma front and centre, her face blurred as a shadow being seemed to be pulling away from her, a definite skull and empty eye sockets visible in tendrils of something smoky leaning away from her head of red hair.

***

No matter what he tried Connor couldn’t get a signal. Short of a carrier pigeon they were cut off.

“Did you remove all of your equipment?” He asked in a last ditch effort.

Rufus looked up from the wiring mess he and Jiya were lying in trying to re-route the power supply to boost the receivers so that he might force a temporary opportunity. “Most of them. Why?”

“It’s possible they may have picked up who was with Cahill.”

Jiya moved fastest. “We didn’t have recorders in that area but we did have thermal imaging there abouts.” Jiya started tapping at her laptop. “If they detected motion I might be able to work it backwards until we find the person responsible on a different camera.”

“Excellent.” Connor double checked the door he’d locked, decidedly paranoid. “What do you think your chances are?”

More tapping as Jiya brought up image after image. “Slim but possible.” She typed again, asking without lifting her head, “Did we bring the 50 or 100 pix sensors?”

Standing Rufus dusted himself down. What a total waste of time. He went to read over Jiya’s shoulder. “100’s. They might be strong enough to get an image through the bricks? With the spinning mechanism the wall was thinner than elsewhere.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” More images passed, red hot spots of life walking though corridors and rooms. Then the screen fizzed blue. “What the..?”

Rufus scrolled backwards. “The sensor’s shot. How in the world did that happen?” He played it again and as a door opened the whole screen shone violent blue only to return to normal. “No way.” He wound it forwards and backwards, counting seconds. “Jiya I’m imagining things.”

Looking up from the screen she agreed. “I’m right with you.”

“If someone would be so kinds as to allow me?” Connor shooed them to one side so he could see. “I could be wrong, but it would appear something intensely cold moved across your sensors scope.”

“I swear to God Connor if this is another of your tricks…” Rufus made sure to stare the other man out.

Connor put his hands on his heart. “On my life, I have nothing to do with this.”

***

“Sweet mother of Christ.” Wyatt stumbled upon them while the wall was still open. Before anyone could say a words he shoved Jessica behind him and started walking backwards with her towards the door, pistol appearing from nowhere. “Whatever the fuck is going on we’re out of here.” He pushed backwards a further couple of steps.

“Get off me you idiot.” Jessica hit him upside the head, trying to get round the body blocking her, making a grab at the wrist with the gun.

“Enough Jess.” He turned slightly, not exposing his back to the remaining three, but manoeuvring so he could prevent her doing more damage, so that he could keep them covered. “Whatever you’re tied up in I’ll get you out. I can fix this. There’s no need for you to go down with these…” He waved his hands at a loss for words.

“Will you put that away?” Jessica managed to get hold of the barrel of the gun and push it towards the floor. “None of us killed him you moron. We found him like that. Now let me the hell go.” She stamped on his instep and ducked under his arm, returning to Amy as fast as she could move.

Wyatt gave her a baleful glare then set his face to assess the others, side arm half cocked. “You found him?” His voice dripped with scepticism.

“It wasn’t exactly a high point of the day.” Flynn was probably not the best person to answer.

Wyatt certainly didn’t like that he’d spoken, his arm raising and centring on Flynn’s mid-section. 

“Will you stop being a Jackass?” Jessica moved in front of Flynn as Lucy moved closer to his side, helping to obscure him as a target. “We were looking for a secret room and we found one, only someone else found it first. Someone who had it in for Cahill. You were working for him. Got any ideas who that might have been?”

Trying to shuffle to the side for a better angle Wyatt answered, “I wasn’t working for him.”

“Oh cut the crap. Yesterday you told me you were taking the job with the Cahill Foundation.” 

That focused the former soldiers’ attention. “Yeah. Working for the boss. Not Cahill. He’s a yes man who rubber stamps everything.” He looked at the corpse. “Or at least he did.”

Lucy stepped forwards, a bit more in front of Flynn who was trying to get her out of the line of fire unsuccessfully. She could hear him grinding his teeth behind her. “The boss?”

“Whitmore.”

The room’s four original occupants shared a look. 

Jessica asked carefully, “Emma Whitmore runs the Foundation?”

“Babe, she runs everything. Like last night. She wanted me to keep an eye on Bruhl. Was convinced Cahill had him on some secret mission or something. I don’t know.” He looked over at Lucy. “I asked you to change teams remember? Bruhl was on team two and originally I wasn’t.”

“I remember.” How did she phrase this delicately? “Did Emma say anything specific about not trusting Cahill or did she just want you to keep tabs on him?” What she really wanted to ask was did she ask you to kill him or do you think she’d have done it herself?

“Simple observe and report gig.” It took Wyatt a moment to catch where her thoughts were going. “No way. You think she did that to him? I’m not saying she isn’t cold or anything but that type of job takes a proper piece of work.” He looked around the room. “There’s never a drink about when I need one.

Garcia swayed on the spot.

_“You’ve had enough.” He said to his partner, trying to wrestle the glass from the younger man’s hands._

_Despite his inebriation the man was fast, dodging sideways to keep his drink. “I’ll say when I’ve had enough.”_

_Garcia looked on in disbelief as his hands took the decanter instead and Wyatt – with longer hair tied back in a ponytail and knee length breeches – stumbled trying to get it back._

_“You fell off your chair at dinner, man. It’s time to sober up.”_

_“’S going to be my chair soon. Keynes said,” he hiccupped, “said if I get the rock I can have her.”_

_“What?”_

_“’S right. I’m going to marry Lucy and all of this will be mine.”_

_“Has she agreed?”_

_“She doesn’t have to. Her brother has the final say.”_

_“Over my dead body.”_

“Garcia?” Her small hand was on his brow, a line marking her beautiful face between her eyes. He wanted to pick her up and run away, as far and as fast as he could. He had to keep her safe. Had to-

“What the fuck was that?” Wyatt sank down to his knees, holding his head and looking decidedly green around the gills.

“Wy?”

Lucy looked between the men and asked the only logical question at this point. “What did you see?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duso - sweetheart or baby (I'd prefer sweetheart)
> 
> I'm 4/5ths of the way finished the final chapter. Sorry to keep moving the goal posts on this. Turns out I've become terribly verbose.


	8. The early hours of Monday morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final countdown. What happened to the ghosts? How can they stop Keynes? Will Lucy and Garcia ever get it together?

“Okay. Call me crazy but I’ve got to ask. You believe this stuff? Ghosts and past lives and whatever?”

Once Flynn and Wyatt had recovered they’d locked up the room with the corpse and made their way to meet Jiya, Rufus and Connor. Now Jiya was holding out on the sceptic thing while the others were, to varying degrees, becoming haunted house converts.

“I can’t explain it Jiya. I wish I could.” Lucy looked at the man by her side, her silent support, a stranger less than a week ago. “In all honesty if you’d asked me before the scavenger hunt I’d have told you ghosts aren’t real. Even after the hunt I’d have stuck to my guns thanks to Connor’s little set-up. The thing is though, Garcia and I both saw ourselves, sort of, in the great hall. We’ve both been dreaming for weeks about this place. About each other.”

Screwing up her face Amy looked between the two, prepared to cling to the idea this was how awkward people dated if it helped the world seem sane again. “You said you didn’t remember your dreams.”

“Neither of us did.” Flynn continued. “But I knew the house before I walked through the door. I knew Lucy too.” 

Sat on the arm of a chair, leaning up against Amy, Jessica not so innocently suggested, “That could be because you’re obsessed with her books.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes at her while red dusted his cheekbones. He cleared his throat and avoided Lucy’s gaze. “The impressions you get of a person through their writing can often be deceiving. This … feeling … I have,” he looked like he was trying not to swallow his tongue, “is something very different from appreciating the talent of a fellow author.”

Lucy didn’t know where to look or what to make of that. Was he saying he had feelings for her? Or did it mean that because of his dreams he had some sort of lingering emotion from his other self?

For the first time ever, Amy saved her. “Leaving that very,” she waved her hand between the two of them unable to formulate an acceptable description, “to one side, we have bigger fish to fry here people.” She held up her phone and showed the picture again. “I mean, does that look like Emma’s playing house to a ghost or what?”

Rufus was working on a computer, enlarging and detailing the photograph. “I vote yes.” He looked at Jiya guiltily. “You wouldn’t want me to lie would you?” He turned his screen around. “If I had to hazard a guess from this photograph alone I’d say that thing was inside of Emma. Then it chose to move out of her.” He turned to Jessica and Amy. “You didn’t see anything?”

“Too busy seeing red.” Jessica admitted.

“And I was taking the picture.”

Voice full of reluctance Jiya said, “I didn’t see anything but,” she sighed heavily, “Emma’s cold.”

“No kidding. She was a bitch with a capital B even before we thought she might have killed Cahill.”

“Amy!”

“What?” The two sisters engaged in silent battle. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Jiya clarified, bumping Rufus to one side so she could share his chair and nestle into his body heat. “The whole scavenger hunt I thought the heating was broken it was so cold. I had to grab a sweater when we passed our room. And in the attic? When I put my hands through those recordings the air moved but that was it. When Emma went round me to get to Cahill? It was like the room temperature dropped by ten degrees.”

Connor drummed his fingers on the closest available surface. “You think she’s the cold spot on the sensors?”

Jiya shook her head. “That can’t be possible.”

“When Cahill got aggravated Emma went to calm him down.” Amy said. “She had hold of him and he was starting to get upset about a name-”

“Keynes?”

“Probably. Anyway, whatever he was about to kick off about stopped as soon as she had hold of him. I remember thinking how icky it must be to have to be touching him all the time.”

“She always touched him.” Wyatt chimed in, supremely relaxed considering. “Through my interview, in the dining room, the drawing room. Everywhere. The only time she wasn’t touching him was last night because they were in separate teams.”

Jessica looked like she wanted to spit. “He was running his mouth, doing that superior entitled white man thing. She didn’t touch him then.”

Giving her knee a sympathetic squeeze Amy tried to recall details. “The moment after the ‘ghosts’,” she shot Connor the evil eye, “he got really agitated. Emma moved then. He got irate about what everyone knew and she was glued to his side. That’s when he stopped talking, remember? It was like he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth.”

“He was going to let the cat out of the bag.” Lucy realised. 

“So we’re hypothesising Emma – the ghost – had some sort of power over Cahill? And that she maintained that power by touching him?” Jiya still didn’t want to believe.

Flynn wasn’t ready to wipe Cahill’s slate clean. “I’ll buy that she was exerting influence but my meeting was with Cahill alone. He was a murderous snake all by himself there.”

Lucy took his hand. “He was on his own with me too for a while. I couldn’t wait to leave the room.”

“Let’s not forget it looks like he was working alone to get Bruhl to build him a locating device too.” Rufus added for good measure.

“So we’re suggesting,” Lucy formed her thoughts aloud, “That while Emma was holding the reigns Cahill was trying to play both sides. Emma could have caught on and killed him.”

“I’ll run with most of that.” Jiya accepted. “He was awful and no way would I want to meet her in a darkened alley either. It’s the ghost stuff that doesn’t work for me.”

Wyatt gave her a sympathetic glance. “Half an hour ago I was with you there but unless Flynn managed to dose me with something I’m prepared to swear on the old red, white and blue that I saw myself in another time. Seriously freaky shit. I was dead ass drunk, the whole room was spinning, and I was boasting about being able to marry Lucy.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow at the brunette in question. 

“I know nothing about that.” Lucy responded firmly, privately horrified. “My dreams have revolved around a brother who’s taking over my life while subtly threatening me. Or Flynn.” Which made her remember the last time she’d seen herself with him and caused her to blush furiously.

Connor stood. “Emma killed Cahill and has the stone. That is the only possible conclusion.”

There was a lot going on, most of it speculation on their behalves. Lucy was willing to take several leaps of faith here, what with a body, a room hidden behind markings on a wall that she had a copy of on her wrist, photographic evidence (still up for debate) and sensor information that suggested ‘cold patches’ but that stone nonsense was a step too far.

“There is absolutely no evidence that the Rittenhouse stone exists let alone contains mystical powers.”

“But the documents-”

“Refer to an object of high material value. The rest could be hearsay and myth.”

“And Emma is acting on her own with no ghostly interference?”

If this was how things were going to play out next time she told Amy she didn’t want to go somewhere Lucy was one hundred percent sticking to her guns. “I know it looks-” 

The cry caught her off guard. She turned, straining to hear, her nerves electrified.

“Lucy?” 

_“Help!”_ A child’s voice was calling from somewhere nearby. _“Mama help!”_ It was a cry of pain.

Before she knew what she was doing Lucy dashed from the room, running towards the sound, heart thumping. As she got closer she had a second to appreciate a weight to her clothes that hadn’t been there before, a restriction to her movement and ability to draw breath.

_“What are you doing? Let him go.” The governess had Ethan by the arm, held off the floor at a painful angle. She tried to reach him but the woman pulled harder and the boy’s cries intensified._

_“Now, Lady Preost, about that stone.”_

_“My jewellery is in the vault. Take what you want only let my son go.”_

_A condescending disappointment graced the redhead’s face. “Come now. We both know what I seek cannot be found in the family vault.”_

_Lucy wanted her child in her arms, safe from harm, but, “Then I know not to what you refer. Everything I have is there.”_

_“So coy.” The woman yanked harder. Surely the boy’s arm would break._

_“Please!” The panic rode her hard. “There are rubies and emerald, diamonds and pearls. Whatever you want.”_

_“I want the Rittenhouse stone.”_

“Ethan!” Lucy’s shout bounced about the hallway but the child and his governess were nowhere to be seen. She shivered, unable to tell if it was from the scene she’d witnessed or the sudden drop in temperature. 

Something touched her back and she whirled, lashing out, only to find her hand connecting with Garcia’s solid bulk.

“Did you see them?” Where would they have gone? Were they real? Was any of it?

He ducked his head to meet her eyes, holding her still as she fought to free herself, to chase the wisps of what had been. “There’s no one else Lucy. You ran from the room and I followed you.”

“No. They were here. She had Ethan. She was hurting him.” What had happened to that little boy? He was so small, he couldn’t have been more than four. 

He scanned the space, “Ethan’s the child?”

“My child.” No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t have any children. “I … It felt like he was mine. I could remember rocking him as a baby and singing him to sleep.” Eyes enormous, she stared up at him. “His governess wanted the Rittenhouse stone but I didn’t know where it was.” Regardless of Lucy’s personal beliefs the woman in her vision certainly thought the stone existed and was prepared to do a lot to get it. “Garcia whatever is going on here, it’s not good.”

***

“Suspend disbelief. Do whatever you need to do.” Garcia was pacing again. Lucy’s vision had scared her far more than any he’d had. The rigid lines of her shoulders as she poured over Mildred’s journal told their own story and he didn’t know how to help her. It was driving him crazy. “We work on the idea that Emma Whitmore’s agenda is to find and activate Rittenhouse. Does she have it already? Does she know how it works?”

“Probably fair to assume she’s got it.” Jessica decided. “I mean, Lucy’s bracelet led us to that room and Cahill can’t have been there more than a day. Half of us saw him alive less than twenty hours ago which has got to mean she was looking for something in there and decided it was a private place to dispose of him.”

Lucy’s brown head lifted absently to note, “There was a notch in the stone work, like it had been hit by something recently.”

Nodding Jiya took up the mantel. “Emma would so have lashed out if she couldn’t make the wall spin. I can definitely see her hitting it in frustration.”

He strode from one side of the room to the other, facts and suppositions rearranging themselves with every step. “Okay. She had the stone. Is it active?”

“Highly doubtful.” Connor sipped at a cup of tea – apparently the only thing suitable for situations such as these. “If we presume she is in fact the spirit of someone from the original murder, most likely Keynes, then she has spent the past three hundred years searching for Rittenhouse. If she knew how to trigger it we would either be in the middle of eighteenth century England or completely unaware of any of this as the timeline would have changed and none of this would have happened.”

“Oh, come on!” Amy blew a raspberry of exasperation. “That can’t be right.”

Rufus shrugged, “Actually it’s pretty accurate. Bruhl’s research was all about bending time before he became an author. I read some of his stuff at MIT and again when I was working at Mason Industries. On Friday we talked about the ramifications of travelling to the past and we both had to conclude that any change would result in returning to a present where the people had different memories from us.” 

Several blank faces looked back at him so he tried again. “It’s like the Mr Peabody stories. They go back to the Jurassic Era and swat a bug. When they return to the present no one has ever heard of a T-Rex because, small though it was, that bug was a step to the evolution of Tyrannosaurus.”

“So any minute now we could forget everything we know or be wiped out of existence completely?” Jessica grabbed onto Amy’s hand. “Well that’s not terrifying or anything.”

“If she can’t trigger it then…”

“She thinks I can.” Pushing away from the table Lucy stood and waved the journal at the others. “Mildred writes about her dreams far more clearly than I can remember them. She talks about seeing a blazing row between Keynes and his brother-in-law, who would have been Lady Preost’s husband.”

Even knowing her sister well Amy was struggling to keep things straight. “Give us a clue?”

“The first woman to die here. Lucy Preost, formerly Lucy Keynes.”

“Er, sis. That’s a bit too close to home don’t you think?”

Lucy’s head tipped sideways. “My guess is that’s the point. The family name changed when Mildred married into the Cahill’s but according to this she was the first female Preost since the original Lucy. If we work forwards from Mildred, her only child was a son who was in turn Benjamin Cahill’s father. Unless anyone knows differently our Cahill had no children.”

“Except you.” Garcia’s voice was heavy.

She gave a reluctant nod. “Except me. Anyway. From what she writes it sounds like they were arguing about something Lord Preost had come into possession of that Keynes desperate wanted. Preost wouldn’t give it up and then he died. From there Keynes and his newly hired governess started to apply pressure on Lady Preost to reveal the location of the object and how to use it.”

“You think throwing her over the side of the Tower was his way of getting her to talk?” Impulsive though Amy was that sounded like a bad plan.

With a quick shake of her head Lucy tried to put her ideas into words. “I doubt it. As ultimatums go its fairly lousy. Either you get what you want or you lose the answer forever. No, I don’t know why they ended up at the tower but I do think they threatened her son to try and get the information. And if they thought she knew how to activate it then Emma has to be working on the same idea now.”

“Only you’re not Lucy Preost.”

“But I am seeing bits of what she saw, remembering parts of what she knew, just as Garcia is experiencing what his counterpart from the past saw and felt.”

His face was pinched, his jaw clenched. “I think they’re trying to help us. Definitely to warn us.” 

Jessica chewed on the inside of her cheek. “The other versions of you and Lucy?”

“Yes. If Keynes was able to resurrect himself why couldn’t they? However, whereas he’s chosen to physically manifest in Emma they’ve chosen to show us images of what was.”

“Which would explain why I can feel what she’s feeling and move as she moves but also have my own thoughts.” That he understood was a comfort. That he was thinking along the same lines as her was astounding.

“I believe so.”

Rufus moved to the centre of the room. “Hate to put a spanner in the works here but I think you’re all missing something.”

“And what’s that?”

With all eyes on him he explained clearly, “If Emma has the stone and thinks Lucy can active it, surely that means the psycho killer’s coming for Lucy.”

***

It wasn’t rational. She should be terrified. Lucy knew that, all things considered she should have agreed to Amy’s plan and currently be locked in her bedroom, hiding while someone stood guard and the rest sought out Emma and dealt with the problem.

Instead she felt an odd kind of exhilaration. Not about the situation – that would be beyond insane – but that when she’d refused to go quietly Garcia had backed her up. When Wyatt was spouting on about her not being able to do much other than theorise about the past (she was paraphrasing but the general idea was that she was some weak woman who needed protection and should be happy to accept big strong male help) the most powerful man in the room had deferred to her and asked her what she wanted. Her answer then had been to help in the search, to help end whatever was going on. Now the answer was quickly shortening down to one word. Him. She wanted him.

She hadn’t been flippant when she told Amy his books called to her. From the moment she’d picked up the first one in her father’s study it was as though Garcia was talking to her, as though his words were written for her alone. Of course she’d be lying if she said his photograph on the dust cover hadn’t caught and held her attention, but every time she read the books it was like he was with her, reading alongside her, mirroring her thoughts.

Having met him the feeling hadn’t gone away. If anything it felt stronger, more tangible. Was this some left over emotion from the other Lucy and her lover? Was that what he’d been trying to explain to the others? For her own part she didn’t think so. Her thoughts were distinct from those of Lady Preost, her desire to reach out and touch not shadowed by any residual memories.

If it had been a remembered emotion would she have felt this tongue-tied around him? Could a past she had never lived cause her pulse to speed up and her senses to swim? If it was merely second hand feelings would she have this desire to seek him out just to spend time with him? To talk and share things she had never felt comfortable sharing with others? Every question lead to increasing certainty. What had been before was then. This was now and right now, aside from stopping whatever Emma/Keynes was up to and getting out of Manor Grange, she wanted to talk with Garcia Flynn. To walk with him, by his side for however long he would let her, to live a life with him.

All she had to do was find a way to discover if that was something he might want too. 

And survive the night. 

Piece of cake. 

She dropped her head into her hands and scrubbed her eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to follow Amy’s plan?” The roughened edges to his accent sent pleasant shivers down her spine. Because she had a spine and she could look up and ask… 

Drowning in the green brown of his eyes she decided now was probably not the best time. What if he said no? What if she embarrassed him and he felt he had to swap places with Rufus or Jiya to avoid any inevitable awkwardness? It didn’t bare thinking about.

“No. I want to do this.” She looked around the empty hall. “I need to do this.” Determinedly she started up the grand staircase, each step heavier than the last. She might need to see this night through but she one hundred percent did not want to set foot in the west tower.

“Lucy, I…” He trailed off.

When she looked back she caught a moment of unguarded emotion in his eye before he blinked and it was gone. 

“I wanted to say,” he took a steadying breath, “whatever happens tonight, I will be there. We’ll face this together.”

She thought back to Connor’s tale – was that only two nights ago? – of how Lady Preost and her lover had both ended up over the battlements. “Just don’t do anything crazy, okay? We don’t know what Emma has planned and the last thing we need is another casualty.”

Even so, together sounded good. Reassuring. A possibility in the making.

***

“Tell me again why Lucy and Flynn clearing the west wing? I’d have thought that was the last place they should be.”

Walking the halls as the electricity kicked in and out was not as much fun as Jessica figured it should have been, what with the corpse in the secret room and the ghost that was apparently possessing someone. Also, the ex-husband boring hole in her back was a total drag.

“I was overruled.” Amy was still mad. And scared. Mostly mad though. Okay, maybe more scared. Argh. Why, oh, why couldn’t Lucy listen to reason? Just this once? It was possibly the only time in her life Amy was ever going to be right while Lucy was wrong and did she listen? Of course not. A dragging sense of impending doom hovered all around. That could just have been Wyatt though.

She could go with the safety in numbers BS he’d gone on – and on – about but really? This was about Jessica. Question was did she ignore or confront. That wasn’t really a question now was it?

“So…” She turned, tucked her hair behind her ears, sucked in air and dropped her shoulders. “You want to get it off your chest cowboy or are you planning to glower all night?” Given that he’d lived with Jessica he should appreciate her directness.

Wyatt tried for un-phased. It might have been an attempt at cool. Whatever it was faded as soon as he finished his first sentence, only to be replaced by the desperation of those whose cause was hopeless. “I don’t get it Jess. I honest to God don’t get it.”

Out of the side of her mouth Jess asked, “You had to ask didn’t you? You couldn’t just leave it.”

Replying in kind but keeping a weather eye on the soldier Amy replied, “I thought it might help if he got it over and done with.”

Oblivious, Wyatt continued, “He’s chasing after another woman and you’re okay with that? When did that get acceptable? I slipped up one time-”

“When we were married and slipping up isn’t exactly the best euphemism for being caught blind drunk with your pants round your ankles in the back of a station wagon. God, the least you could have done is held out for a Mercedes.”

“So what’s he got that I don’t?” There was a disconcerting shine to his gaze, a kind of film she’d never seen before. 

Sighing, Jessica shook her head. They’d been through this so many times. “Flynn’s honest. He’s sober. Above all else he’s my boss and unless I miss my guess he’s fallen hard for Lucy. Plus, he can’t be cheating on me because,” she stepped up to Wyatt, grabbed his cheeks and puckered his mouth, “say it with me now. I. Am. Not. Sleeping. With. Him.”

His hands came up to grip hers, his whole attitude pleading. “I can change Jess. Things can be different. We can go back to how it used to be.”

“Wyatt stop.” The love she’d once felt had long since vanished, replaced by pity and tinged with annoyance. “I don’t love you anymore. I haven’t been in love with you for years. We’re over. I’m moving on and if I’m really lucky Amy will want to ride that road with me. So pull up your bootstraps and either help us beat Emma or go sit somewhere you can’t get into trouble.” For good measure she planted a smack of a kiss on Amy’s lips and started down the corridor again.

Looking poleaxed Wyatt stared after her as Amy, in a daze followed. Damn but that woman was a keeper.

***

_“You’re sure?”_

The words rebounded around the walls as they arrived on the second floor landing.

_The braid that edged his knee length jacket caught the light, drawing her eyes before she risked raising them to his. He should be scandalised at her forwardness. She should faint at his audacity in not wearing his wig. Neither cared._

_“Yes.”_

_He drew in a deep breath, joy warring with caution. “It’s a two week journey. There will be no minister until we arrive.”_

_Her reputation would be ruined. Was already ruined should anyone find out about the cottage. She didn’t care. One look at him was enough to convince her that even if there was no minister at all she would follow him wherever he should go._

_He saw the moment her decision was made, saw the way she squared her shoulders and took one last steadying breath. The rich burgundy of her dress made her skin shine in the candlelight, her hair soft around her beautiful face. Was it truly possible so ethereal of creatures could choose to bind herself to him?_

_Unable to resist her charm he stepped down the stairs until he was below and she one step above so that their height was more equal, so that he could slip his fingers across the smoothness of her cheek to the back of her head where he could cradle her fine bones in his palm._

_“I must tell Logan.” Honour demanded it._

_She nodded slightly, eyelashes fluttering beguilingly. “Ethan and I can be ready by nightfall.”_

_“Then we will leave as soon as the house is asleep.”_

_She leaned up and placed a soft kiss upon him lips. “Hurry back to me, my love.”_

The figures evaporated leaving Lucy and Garcia alone. 

“I have the most awful feeling that’s the last time they were together.” She felt choked up just thinking it.

His face echoed her sentiment. “Are they simply showing us what was or is it more do you think?”

Running through what she’d seen or remembered Lucy concluded, “It’s got to be an attempt to help. My dreams have been about being cautious, being scared, needing to run away. Even when I’ve seen the two of us together the visions have shown Keynes’ attempts at control or the threat to Ethan.”

“I’d agree.” Garcia was checking doors as they went, making sure they didn’t get themselves cut off by allowing Emma to appear behind them. “I always wake feeling like I’m running out of time.” Using the master key Connor had provided he locked each new door after he cleared the room. Perhaps it was a vain hope but Emma was a physical being so the idea was even if she was possessed she’d still have to use a doorway to get out. “So why show us that last image?”

Good question. She hadn’t felt afraid. In fact she’d felt joy and hope, an eagerness for the future. She could still feel the slightest impression of his lips on her own. Not that it wasn’t nice but it didn’t fit with all that had gone before. “Did you feel worry? Was he racing the clock to leave?”

Flynn shook his head, pushing his fingers through his hair and managing to dislodge a piece to fall over his forehead. Lucy managed to resist putting it back in its place by biting the inside of her cheek and twisting her over eager fingers together. 

“He was happy. Overjoyed. The only negative emotion I got from him was when he mentioned his partner.”

“The man Wyatt saw?”

“Yes. Just as they look like us the partner was very like Wyatt.” He raised his eyebrows, his cheekbones sharpening. “He acted surprised when we saw the images near the body. Did you believe him when he said that was the first time it had happened?”

How much of this was their recent history talking verses Garcia’s natural instinct? “I thought he was genuine. You and he have issues as far as I can tell?”

“We’ve had our moments. Mostly about his obsession with Jessica and his inability to let her go.”

They moved on, continuing to check even though they both suspected there was only one place they would find Emma. 

“Rufus didn’t seem optimistic he could get a message out.” It was a source of worry that there was no help coming. If this went sideways the majority of the house’s occupants were completely oblivious and surely in danger.

Flynn gave her a reassuring nod. “He and Jiya are technological geniuses. Add in Connor and they’ll find a way.”

The corridor was endless and each empty room felt like another step towards the inevitable. She needed a distraction.

“Do you think Cahill knew? About the ghost I mean?” It had been bugging her. The man hadn’t been impressed when Emma had interrupted him in the library but other than that, as Amy said, they’d been glued together. And how long had Emma been in charge of the Foundation? Cahill hadn’t come across as someone happy to play second fiddle to anyone else. “I can’t picture him rubber stamping anything unless there was something significant in it for him.”

Flynn snorted. “I doubt that man did a single thing that wasn’t self-serving in his entire life.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Was it wise to say anything more?

She stepped on quickly so he followed. Note to self. Cahill’s personality was going to be a touchy subject for the foreseeable future.

“As far as the ghost thing goes? I don’t see how he didn’t know. Mildred’s journal was with him, he knew about Keynes, he accepted Emma as his superior – that’s the clincher for me – but he was still trying to come out on top.” He checked another room. “Do you think the ghost has been in the picture for a long time?” He would always hold Cahill responsible for Lorena’s death but if there was a possibility this thing was involved it had to be considered too.

“You must have read my mind.” She met his eye then looked away again, as though she’d confessed to something and he’d missed it. Her voice was quiet as she continued. “I started dreaming a month ago when the invitation arrived. You?”

“About the same.”

“So if I had to guess I’d say the ghosts all became active then. Which would mean the one in Emma has only been present for that long. Long enough to promise Cahill something he would really want and for him to get frustrated at not being the one in charge.”

“She promised him the stone?” The deep rumble sounded doubtful.

“Probably but I doubt she ever really intended to give it to him.”

***

“This wing is empty.” Amy concluded. There were only so many abandoned rooms she could take and she wanted to go check on Lucy.

Jessica shut another door and twisted the key. “I don’t think I can take any more of the stress. I keep expecting someone to shout ‘boo’ every time I look inside. How did you do the door kicking thing for so long Wyatt?”

When he didn’t answer the two women turned back surprised to find the corridor empty.

“Wyatt?”

They looked at each other. “Where’d he go?”

“You don’t think he got caught out by another secret room do you?”

A quick tap on the walls showed them to be solid. The doors were locked too, just like they’d left them.

“Maybe he decided he’d rather give us some privacy.” Honestly it was a relief that he was gone but it was obvious Jessica was concerned.

“That’d be a first.” The blonde looked torn between letting him go and looking for him.

While reassurance wasn’t her best skill Amy tried, “We’d have heard if something had happened. It’s not like it’s noisy along here.”

“Maybe this time he’s finally got it and he’s given in.” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “He was Delta Force. Emma crosses his path she’s the one in trouble.” Yup. Definitely trying there. 

Amy bumped shoulders with her. “Come on. There’s only a couple more rooms anyway. Let’s finish up and head back. I’m sure we’ll come across him on the way.”

***

There were two directions left and Lucy knew which one she’d rather take. Not the one with stairs.

“So,” It seemed Flynn shared her reluctance, “Room clearing first?”

“Oh lord, yes.”

They’d stopped doing the rooms on their own and started working together a while back. This way he didn’t wait to check she was okay and she didn’t hold back for him. Really, it sped up things considerably. Not to mention the added bonus of close proximity. Now if they could just deal with the Emma situation things were looking up.

“Hey! Watch it!” Wyatt virtually took out Flynn as they rounded a corner.

There was no one behind him. 

“Where are Jessica and Amy?” Had they finished their wing already?

Wyatt jerked his thumb in the direction he’d come from. “They’re on the way. They wanted to stop off and check on the others so I said I’d keep going and catch you guys up.”

Something in his voice sounded off.

“Is everything okay?” Lucy could have laughed at her own choice of words. Of course everything wasn’t okay, given the circumstances, but something was definitely bugging him. A quick glance at Garcia showed he’d heard it too.

The former soldier shrugged. “Did you know?” It wasn’t clear who he was asking. “About the two of them?”

Flynn valiantly tried to swallow a smirk. Failing he decided to compound his error with his usual tact. “Caught you off guard huh?”

An angry glitter coloured Wyatt’s eyes, his brow lowering. “Any one’s better then you.” He muttered, rolling his shoulders back, trying to loosen the tension. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Jess and I belong together.”

Throwing up his hands in disbelief Flynn did some rolling of his own, his eyes spelling out for Lucy that this was a very well-worn path. He still couldn’t resist asking, “Which part of her choosing to sleep with another woman makes that seem likely to you?”

“I can make her forget.”

Ooh boy. The man had issues. He get on really well with her mother thinking like that. Just as soon as she got chance Lucy would have to have a quiet word with Amy so she knew what she was getting into. An ex who thought they could convert someone back to the opposite sex raised red flags all over the place. His word choice struck a chord though, something in the way he’d said it. He’d _make_ Jessica forget? How?

“You keep going like this and she’ll take out a restraining order.” The two men were settling into the familiar argument when their faces glazed over.

_“It’s too late.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Keynes knows about your plans.”_

_Flynn spun, dropping his saddlebag down and watching with a fatalistic horror as Logan lurched to one side, his nose purpled and his eyes not quite steady._

_“How?” He asked, even though he knew how._

_“You thought I’d let you take her?” His laugh wasn’t pleasant, his hatred a surprise. “Told you. She’s mine. You stay away from her.”_

_“Logan, where are Lucy and the boy?” Flynn’s voice low, dangerous._

_Straightening to his full height, he shorter man’s gaze sharpened, his inebriation sinking back as adrenaline spiked. “You can keep the child. I don’t have any use for someone else’s offspring. Once Keynes gives me the stone I won’t have any use for Lucy either. Will you still want her when I’m done with her do you think?”_

As the images swayed out of existence Garcia stepped to the side, firmly in front of Lucy. 

“Garcia?”

“Walk backwards.” He asked, crowding her as he took a step.

“What’s going on?”

“Trust me Lucy. Please.”

She complied, trying to see around a frame that dwarfed her in every way. She caught a glimpse of a very determined smile, a glazed glint to the eye.

“What did she promise you Wyatt?” Garcia’s voice was hard even as he moved backwards, his eyes never leaving the other man. 

Lucy felt her heart clutch. Wyatt was still working for Emma? Working for a killer? He’d been with Amy. What had he done to her?

“I was just going to take the money. A nice nest egg for me and Jess. If I hadn’t seen the ghosts with my own eyes I’d have kept right on thinking Emma was plain insane you see.” He sounded reasonable even though he was obviously far from it. “That blast to the past changed everything. Now I don’t need the cash. I can just go back and fix it from the start. Jess won’t even remember any of this happened.”

Bouncing on her toes Lucy raced from trepidation to horror and back again. Wyatt had lost it. He knew about Jessica and Amy. Given his level of obsession surely he’d lashed out. Done something. The man had military training for heaven’s sake. Where was her baby sister?

Garcia must have felt her agitation as he reached back to touch her fleetingly, calm in the midst of the storm, bringing clarity if not peace. Wyatt wouldn’t have hurt Jessica. He couldn’t get her back if he had. And no matter what he did there was no way she’d go back to him if he’d hurt Amy. She had to calm down and think. Worrying about her sister wouldn’t help them now.

Wyatt advanced a step so Garcia and Lucy retreated. Three more steps and they’d be back at the top of the landing. They could turn and run down them towards people and help.

“Emma offered to let you use the stone didn’t she?” It made a sad kind of sense as she said it. His presence at the party. His knack of showing up at terrible times. The way he’d hung back while they all tried to work this out. “You had to watch us and help her find it, help her use it, and then she’ll let you go back and change your history with Jessica.” Lucy wanted him to admit it out loud.

“It’s nothing personal ma’am.” He mock saluted her, lip curled in the corner in a smile that should have been charming had it held any warmth. “Jessica’s my wife. She will always be my wife and if this bastard hadn’t gotten in the way that’s how it would have stayed. Now I need a little factory reset. And all I have to do is watch you people tie yourselves in knots? It’s a no brainer. Oh, and of course I get the added benefit of watching his face.” This time his smile really was malicious.

“What?”

“Hello Lucy.” Emma spoke from ridiculously close behind her.

***

“You haven’t see him?”

“We’ve been buried in motherboards. You were searching the house with him.”

Jessica didn’t like this one bit. Wyatt Logan had never, not once in his life, given up and walked away. She should know. She’d spent most of that life with him.

So what happened?

Amy was right. There’d been no noise so he hadn’t been grabbed. Best they could tell there were no hidden passageways. No open doors. Which had to mean he’d gone of his own free will.

Where? And why?

She’d told him to take a hike more times than she could count. He’d never listened before. Even as she’d kissed Amy she’d know it wasn’t the wisest move. His jealously was savage. But he’d let it drop? Without so much as a word? Nope. Completely un-Wyatt like.

“You think something happened to him?” Amy was anxious to find Lucy but she was taking the time to understand Jessica’s feelings. It made a pleasant change.

“He doesn’t go away like that. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Then why’d he leave?”

It could have been something on her face that made the others take note. She wasn’t sure. The only thing she was convinced about was he was up to something and much as she didn’t want to believe it there was only one thing he could really be doing that made sense.

“We need to find Lucy and Flynn. I think Wyatt’s done something stupid.”

***

It happened fast. One minute they were together and the next they had very different problems.

Wyatt lunged for Flynn as Emma snagged Lucy’s arm and pulled. It felt like holding an icicle, so cold it burned.

Flynn’s instinct was to protect her but that exposed his back to Wyatt who took full advantage, landing a blow in his kidneys that almost brought him to his knees. 

“No!” Lucy tried to reach for him but the taller woman was dragging her away, pulling her back towards the staircase that neither she nor Garcia had wanted to climb. She attempted to jerk her way free but the claw-like grip on her became a vice.

“Let me go.” Seeking to emulate Jessica’s instep move Lucy managed only to trip over her own foot and miss.

She was rewarded by a sharp slap. “That wasn’t very nice Lucy.”

It might feel like her eye was too big for its socket but at least they’d stopped moving. “Who says I want to be nice?”

A face that should have been beautiful twisted unnaturally, another face rising and falling from its surface. “The other one had more manners than you. It didn’t help her in the end though. Just like it won’t help you.”

Behind her metal cleaving at stone distracted her. Wyatt had managed to dislodge a sabre from the wall and was slashing it at Garcia who was dodging and trying to deflect blows that were getting closer and closer to their mark. The horrible realisation that she could lose him hit hard. She’d only just found him. She couldn’t… It wouldn’t…

The vehement negative she experienced was enough to give her the strength to wrench free, even as her shoulder protested violently. She might be no match for a man with military training and a height/weight advantage but she could sure as hell reach the blade hung at head height on the wall beside her and throw it.

“Garcia!” She shouted so that he turned, caught the hilt and whipped the weapon upwards in time to stop the downwards blow. 

Too close. That was too close. If she …

While the men clashed Emma once more latched on and began dragging her away. Lucy caught hold of the edge of a chest of drawers but whatever was inside Emma was strong. It kept pulling and pulling, heaving the furniture too, making it difficult to grip until she lost her purchase and slid backwards towards the door leading up.

“No!” She tried to dig in her heels but there was nothing to grip, the slabs too smooth from wear. As they passed the doorframe she used her free hand to hold the wood but the pull remained constant. Her shoulder protested, ready to pop, her fingers clammy as fear took real hold. She had to stay off the tower. 

The clank of metal hitting metal followed them. The grunts as blow after blow were delivered and deflected. She couldn’t see who was where, who had the advantage. Garcia had a rapier. What good was that against a sabre? How long would it hold?

“Move!” It was a command but not one she was prepared to follow. If she couldn’t halt their progress maybe she could distract her way out of this?

“Why Mildred? Why kill her too?” By turning she managed to use her feet as a lever against the stairs. Dislocation would be a small price to pay for keeping two feet on the lower levels of the house.

Emma – or was that Keynes – sneered, two faces moving out of sync, giving the impression of a 3D film without the glasses. “Useless. She didn’t have the first idea where to start.” The spilt continued into the voice, making it hard to listen to, words fracturing as two mouths moved.

“I won’t help you.” Couldn’t help as far as she knew.

The thing pushed its face into hers, the stench of decay spraying out as it spoke. “Oh, I think you will.” It jerked her suddenly and a sickening pop sounded near her ear.

The pain rode her hard, causing tears to spring from her eyes and her knees to knock but Emma wasn’t done with her yet. Stairs that only moments before had been her salvation became agony, her shins bloodied by uncarpeted edges while her shoulder begged for relief. Slipping she landed hard on her knees, twisted to avoid adding to her pain only to feel the skin peel from her back as the dragging continued, inexorably upwards.

_No._

The voice was not her own, not aloud.

_Fight._

Though it hurt more than anything she had ever experienced Lucy struggled to regain her feet, put her free hand up to support her shoulder and, although her mind screamed at her not to, pulled back from her captor.

A sod, self-inflicted, tore from her throat.

“Lucy!” Garcia must have heard her. Panic edged his tone and feet thudded on the floor as he speed to catch up.

Wyatt was right behind him, slamming the only exit as Garcia mounted the stairs two at a time.

The look on Emma’s face said it all. Lucy had played into her hands beautifully. 

Garcia’s arm around her waist was small comfort. One handed, he parried a blow as Wyatt relentlessly pushed them upwards, towards a door that filled her with more fear than the crawl space had. More fear than the water rushing into the car all those years ago.

She tried to resist but there was nowhere to go. Either Garcia suffered a slice from Wyatt’s blade or she stepped through the door towards the smiling face of a half woman half creature. Only the desire to keep him safe made her move.

“So glad you could join me.” 

A sense of helplessness tried to engulf Lucy as the wind howled about them, the first hints of new rain beginning to fall. 

_Run!_ The voice in her head pleaded but there was nowhere to run to.

“This doesn’t have to be hard.” She could heard the slimy logic of Benjamin Cahill, could see an image of a muscular man with dark hair reclining with a glass by a roaring fire.

_“Nicholas. Please!” She held her hands in front of her, a helpless defence._

_“Harlot!” The man shouted to be heard, shouted to terrify, shouted because he could. “You planned to steal it from me.”_

_She was crying, sliding, the rain making everything worse. “I swear. I packed only what Ethan and I would need. I left the jewels. The deeds to the house. They’re yours. Just let us go.”_

_His laugh was loathsome. Malicious. Vindictive. “They are all going to be mine anyway. Why would I need you to give them to me? As soon as I use the stone everything will be as it was supposed to be. Father will die before he marries you off and the estates will be mine.”_

_“Brother…”_

_It was the wrong word._

_“You always thought you were so much better than me. With your books and your ideas. Dripping poison into Father’s ear. You will learn your place!” Then he laughed again, a madman on a tower._

“Tell me how to active it and I’ll let you go.” Emma’s voice cut through the vision, a lie through ruby red lips.

“Let us go and we’ll tell you how to active it.” Garcia counted, keeping them moving, trying and failing to keep his body between Lucy’s and danger.

The laugh was not natural. “I never liked you.” The thing croaked. “Bastard immigrant. He thought he was my equal.” There was outrage in his roar. “And that whore. Debasing herself. Tainting our blood.”

Emma darted forward, claws outstretched. With an almighty effort Garcia lifted Lucy with one arm and spun her out of range only to be rewarded by three red welts down the side of his neck. He didn’t flinch, moving to cover her smaller body with his own as Wyatt lunged forward, sabre in hand.

There had to be something she could do. 

There had to be a way to stop this. 

“Let Garcia go.” Her voice surprised everyone. “Let him go and I’ll make Rittenhouse work.”

He shook his head, denial in the lines of his face, in the brown green swirls of his eyes. “No. Lucy, no.”

“You can’t keep us both safe.” She blinked back her tears, swallowed down her fear. “And I can’t watch you die.”

“How touching.” The ice latched back onto her skin, pulling her out from his grip.

Lucy bit her tongue to keep from screaming in pain. “Let him go.”

“Active Rittenhouse.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

_The flash of silver at Flynn’s throat was more terrifying than the drop over the edge. Logan nudged him forward with a twist of the arm behind his back as Lucy’s slippered foot hit the bricks of the battlement wall._

_They locked eyes, speaking without words._

_“Where is the stone?” Keynes pressed forward and instinctively Lucy flinched backward._

_“No.” Making to move towards her caused the skin at Flynn’s neck to part, staining the white around his throat the red of wine._

_“Flynn!” Her hand reached for him only to be caught in a cruel grip._

_“He dies tonight. There is nothing you can do to save him.” Keynes spat at Flynn’s feet. “Tell me where to find the stone and the boy won’t have to suffer the same fate.”_

Using the visions distraction Garcia whirled on Wyatt, slamming upwards with the rapier hilt, digging in with its decorated edges. The man stumbled to the side with Garcia close behind, batting the sabre from his grip and kicking it away. Flynn raised his fist to make sure Wyatt couldn’t get back up when the door to the stairs flew open and the others piled out.

“What the..?”

“Lucy..?”

Wyatt groaned on the floor, blinking and looking for all the world as though he’d woken from a bad dream. Unconvinced Jessica centred her foot on his neck, pushing him back down before he had the chance to try anything else.

Furious Emma pulled Lucy away from the group, towards the edge of the tower. “One move and she goes over.” Her point emphasised as the crumbling brickwork gave slightly and several bricks crashed down onto the courtyard below. 

“Let her go.” Holding one hand out before him Garcia took a tentative step forwards. “This is over.”

Emma pushed Lucy further back. “I’ve waited three hundred years. You think I’m ready to give in yet?” She snarled.

“You can’t use the stone if she dies.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure she’s not the one to die.” With her other hand Emma revealed a duelling pistol, levelling it at Flynn’s chest.

_“Mama!” The little boy hurtled his way onto the roof, causing all there to turn with varying degrees of interest and alarm._

_Closest to him Logan kicked out, unbalancing himself and loosening his grip on Flynn. The older man took full advantage and ignoring the sting at his throat ducked out of the chokehold, pivoting and catching the sobbing child. Moving as though possessed he managed to get his precious cargo back to the doorway and shut inside, out of harms way for now._

_Having regained his footing Logan closed in again, weapon ready. Flynn feinted left then dodged right, moving ever closer to Lucy and Keynes, desperation and determination mixed. Logan dogged his moves, making a sudden thrust forward and missing, only to crash into Keynes who in turn knocked into Lucy._

_There was nothing to grab hold of. Only air. Her arms wheeled in useless flight as the ground reached up to suck her in. Flynn dived forward to catch her only to watch as she fell, only to feel the push from behind that allowed him to follow her to a quiet oblivion._

“Screw that!” Whether it was their ghostly death or the gun she reacted to she would never be able to say. 

Knowing the arm Emma held was useless Lucy chose instead to dead weight her body and drop to the floor, a move not even Keynes expected. The sudden weight pulled the guns barrel off target, firing its ball in a futile shot at the masonry. Garcia vaulted forwards, lithe as a cat, to hit the offending weapon to one side, fisting the material of Emma’s dress in one hand as the knuckles of his other found her jaw.

Panting Lucy attempted to crawl away, her arm a lifeless appendage at her side. Awkwardly she slid a meter, maybe two before the milky smoke started to pour out of Emma’s body. Talons reached for her, digging into her ankle, nails pinning her down as more and more of the stuff clumped together to build the musculature of a body and a face. Keynes’ form loomed over her, mouth open wide as it bayed for blood. Her blood.

She couldn’t have stopped her scream if she tried.

As the noise tore out of her she felt it; the suck from her mouth, the trickle of feeling leaving her fingers and toes as her life force began to spiral away from her. The edges of the world began to darken. Breathing was not an option. She was dying. She was going to die up here on this damn tower just like her former self. She was going to die and she’d never told Garcia how she felt.

Beside them Emma slumped into a heap on the floor as Flynn moved again, trying and failing to make contact with the insubstantial form draining her. He swung but the smoke dissolved and reformed in the air currents he created, leaving frost on his hands. Changing tack he tried to grasp Lucy but a white hot zap of electricity shot him back across the floor, sending him skidding until his back made thudding contact with the tower walls.

Unable to do more than move her eyes she watched as he shook himself, tried unsteadily to stand, to get back to her. To do the impossible. 

Their eyes caught and held, speaking volumes with no words at all. A future and a lifetime slipping away with every beat of her heart. One final goodbye for two souls that had spent centuries trying to find one another again.

All of a sudden the sucking stopped, the creature rearing back. Behind it stood Emma, feet planted apart and hands somehow buried deep in the fog of it.

“Cocksucker.” She dug deeper into the smoke as Keynes tried to phase out of form. “Worming your way inside of me. Burning through my head.” Her face turned ugly as she snatched her hand back suddenly and the fog wheezed in pain. “Nobody controls me.” Rough edges shaped her voice. “Not my body. Not my voice. Not my mind.” She squeezed the thing that was Keynes in the region of his heart, one hand working its way up to his meaty throat. “I choose. Win or lose it’s my decision.”

“Fool!” It tried to start the draining on her but failed. “You can’t survive without me. You’re already dead!”

“This won’t hurt then, will it?”

Though it stretched itself thin Emma worked them backwards. One step. Two steps. Until there were no more steps to take and, holding on with a death grip all her own, she dragged the ghost of Nicholas Keynes into the abyss.

***

“I was thinking.”

Everyone had been thinking, for sure. 

Amy was thinking about locking Lucy in their house and never letting her leave again. She figured Jessica wouldn’t mind having a historian as a house mate just as soon as she approached the idea that they should move in together. By her reckoning their one month anniversary would be a great time to suggest it.

Jessica was thinking Wyatt needed help. More help than she’d ever thought. Sure, he looked like he’d been hit by a silly stick and there was every chance that ghost thingy had managed to worm its way onto his subconscious, causing him to act in such an extreme manner but the kernel of the idea had been his own. The obsession had already existed. No way did she want to take things further with Amy only to find herself confronted time and again with this PTSD nightmare on their doorstep.

Connor was thinking he was right. After all, Benjamin Cahill and his associates were as evil and obnoxious as he’d always assumed. Now, thanks to Mr Flynn, he had the evidence to prove it. He could almost rub his hands together in gleeful anticipation of the media storm that was about to descend.

Rufus and Jiya were on the same page as each other. This, whatever this was, – and they were definitely going to have to build some sort of instrument to try to detect the types of energies that had been zooming all over the place this weekend – was over and the sooner they got out of here the better. Their new friends were great. They’d keep in touch. But right now their tiny apartment and an eight hour gamer marathon were just what the doctor ordered.

Lucy was thinking about second chances and the Rittenhouse stone. In one of Connor’s sources there’d been that line about two souls bridging time. It occurred to her now, with her shoulder put back in place and a sling to take the weight off it, that maybe the stone couldn’t be activated in the way everyone thought. Maybe the stone had always been active, always been working to bring the two souls pulled apart back together. After all, what were the chances that out of eight billion people in the world she and Garcia would be in the same place at the same time, just as the others had been centuries ago, let alone in the building where the other versions of them had lived, loved and died?

“If you don’t mind, I’ll pull up a chair and sit out here.” What Garcia was thinking was still elusive. He wanted to sleep in the corridor outside her room? “I doubt I’ll get much sleep and I’d rather…” He looked away, looked back and then dropped his eyes. “I’d rest easier if I knew you were safe.”

Biting her lip Lucy looked on in wonder. He was still worried about her? He was asking her permission? Her heart swelled so big it became hard to swallow.

Taking her silence as agreement he collected a straight back chair and propped it next to her door. “Sleep well Lucy.”

She could slip into her room now, let the events of the night drift away, freshen herself up and have this talk in the morning, well later in the morning than it already was anyway. Or she could follow her heart.

“There’s a draft out here. You’ll get a crick in your neck. Or a cold. My room’s warmer. Come inside?” He looked dumbfounded, as though her words did not compute. “I’m sure I’d be more at ease knowing you were closer.”

Bless him, he looked torn, half longing to accept, half unsure of the propriety of her offer. Obviously he was far too much of a gentleman for his own good.

Taking the initiative she opened her door wider and gestured for him to pass her, breathing deep when he finally took the first step. Once he was through the threshold it was easy to close the door and lean back against it, barring any route to escape.

He moved to the middle of the room, between the fire and the bed, looking around for a place to rest, deliberately avoiding getting too close to her. Did he trust himself so little? Excellent. He made to start towards a chair by the windows when she decided a small white lie might be in order.

“Could you..?” She lifted her sling slightly to show she was going to have problems getting herself sorted. As accident prone as she was she’d learned how to do most things one handed years ago but he didn’t have to know that.

Licking his upper lip he hesitated before solemnly nodding, returning to her side and motioning for her to turn her back to him. His fingers were gentle as they swept her hair to one side, careful on the buttons that ran the course of her spine. Their feather-light touch filled her with an ache so strong she swayed on her feet.

“Lucy? Are you alright? Do you feel faint?” His concern felt wonderful.

“A little.” She answered innocently.

As she’d hoped he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, resting her softly back against the pillows. Before he could move away she pushed up and caught his lips with her own, pulling back after a minute to ask with her eyes.

Frozen he tried, “I…”

“I think I’ve always been a touch in love with you.” She whispered before he could shatter the moment, before he could retreat. “Your words live inside me.”

“Lucy.” He groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “Reading your books is like talking with an old friend but this?” He gestured between the two of them. “Are you sure? I feel as though I’ve known you all my life, as though I’ve been waiting to find you. I couldn’t bear it if you realise tomorrow this isn’t real, that it’s just some lingering feeling from the other us.”

The intensity of his gaze burned through her, his passion virtually leaping out in a physical caress. 

“I’d have known you if we met on the street.” She dropped a kiss on the corner of his lips. “I’d have wanted to talk with you if it had been a supermarket.” Another kiss, to the underside of his jaw. “If we’d been on opposing sides of a panel I’d have asked you for coffee after we were done.” Her caress closed his eyes. “The ghosts had their turn. This is ours.” She danced her lips across his cheek to rest against his. “Don’t you think?”

He didn’t wait to be asked twice, slipping his hands into her hair and behind her back as he fused their mouths more securely. Everything clicked into place, their tongues sliding together as if they’d done this countless times before.

Pulling back he searched her face, checking. “I’m not an easy man to live with Lucy.” His hand shook as he moved a lock of hair from across her eyes. “I can be grumpy.” She nipped at his lip. “Sarcastic.” Her fingers flicked at the buttons on his shirt. “Down right impossible.”

Lucy smiled as she planted kiss after kiss onto the skin she exposed, delighting in his shudder. “Funny, but I think I’ll cope Garcia.”

“I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.” He promised.

“I’ll hold you to that. Now shut up and kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for reading and for all your comments/kudos. I've had several huge crisis of self-confidence trying to write this and they've all helped and encouraged. Hopefully I've tied up most of the loose ends here and you've enjoyed the ride.


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